


The London Game

by hisfoolishgirl



Series: APTX WATSON [5]
Category: Magic Kaito, Sherlock (TV), 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And he does so like to cause trouble, And nothing like Sherlock Holmes to take care of the boys, At least if you've read all the parts prior to this one, BO!Hakuba, But Like. I like writing the boys having ties to the BO anyways it seems, But she's also not the only one., Cause the Gosho Boys need someone to watch after them, Don't Have to Know Canon, Gen, He's adopted a lot of boys by the end of this anyways., Moriarty is very aware of little John Holmes, Or Parental, Or at least I hope you agree with that, Parent!Sherlock, So Hakuba's got the lucky straw this time, Then you don't need to know the canon for either, This is where things get wild, Vermouth has plenty of secerts, kinda not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-03-30 22:33:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13961472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hisfoolishgirl/pseuds/hisfoolishgirl
Summary: Moriarty is a name whispered throughout the world, the name at the center of a plot that spans the world... And the threads from Japan have been pulled into London.And when Shinichi Kudo flew into London, he came with temporary antidotes for two.





	1. A Tattered Entrance to 221b

“Thank you for not shooting the wall,” John grumbled, “But - I never wanted to resume studying your ash collection.”

Sherlock frowned, “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a good case?”

“This is why I’m sitting at the table nearly six months after the first attempt of this, Sherlock, but - That doesn’t mean I don’t regret agreeing to this.”

“Everything has been boring, John,” Sherlock moaned, “The criminal class is losing their class.”

John simply stared at the fluff of hair resting on the table that was supposed to be Sherlock’s head, “Well, we’ll just have to give them a good talking to then won’t we?”

Sherlock looked up, “Really, John? Mocking my pain?”

John nodded, “At least not sympathizing with it. I mean, murder investigations are fun and all, but in one hand we have the adventure and other we have the fact that someone died. I’d rather not be condoning the pleasure of innocent people dying.”

“What if the murder was of someone who wasn’t innocent?” Sherlock asked, “Can I look forward to that murder case falling into our laps?”

John rolled his eyes, “Sure. Sure, Sherlock. Enjoy bad dead people.”

“I’ll avoid the Zhi Zhu cold case,” Sherlock answered, “That would be boring.”

“And perhaps make the flat a bit quieter to live in,” John added before jumping down from the chair.

“As I said - boring.” Sherlock slowly sat up, “If we’re not going to finish the geology assignment, John, then how is that fiction you were working on?”

“You’re never reading it.”

“What why can’t I-”

“No.”

“John.”

“Watch it,” John snapped. 

Sherlock frowned, “Rather defensive that.”

“Perhaps,” John grumbled, “But I’d really rather you never see what I wrote.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I wrote about our adventures -  _ in a highly censored fashion.  _ And I am not letting you read it. You’ll take the changes made personally - No. Sherlock, Close your mouth. You will. I know you will. That’s why you’re never reading it.”

“I still don’t see why you waste your time writing that dravel.”

“You haven’t even read it-” John pinched the bridge of his nose, and he took once slow deep breath in, “I think I wish I still had that therapist.”

“She was rubbish and you know it. Got nearly everything about you wrong.”

“Yet,” John grumbled, “You still want to read my blog.”

“It’s not a blog. It’s a novel if the amount of time you spend on it is worth anything.”

“Oh - So now it’s art?”

“It’s a lack of creativity to be called art.”

“Oh yeah.  _ Absolutely _ . No way to be creative in censoring what actually happens on our cases.”

“Except for the triad one then?”

“Except for the - No wait - It is a fiction, Sherlock. Of course I didn’t write down that I’m the one that took the shot - and then handed it over to the officer that worked the case!” John flashed a smile at Sherlock, “But imagine if I did? I’d be the hero of that story - beginning to end. You’re right. I should write that one up without any sort of subtrafudge to it.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Ash, John. Geology paper due…” He moaned.

“Could also work on astronomy stuffs. Maybe I can walk you through the proofs for how we know the earth goes around the sun?”

“I know how to commit the perfect murder, John.”

John laughed. “God. We’re both bored, aren’t we?”

“It would seem to be so.”

“Want to go paint the town red? Maybe something will happen-” John didn’t expect an interruption, but no one expects their windows to be blown in during an afternoon in.

Sherlock coughed and he looked over to John, “We should have started complaining sooner.”

“I was, yesterday,” John grumbled, “To Mrs. Hudson while you were still out to check out that case in Belarus.”

“We really need to follow up with Mycroft on that passport.”

“Part of me agrees with that and another part goes - yet another paper confirming that I’m now a Holmes and perhaps a Watson for nevermore.”

“Ah, well, you can’t have everything, John. The trip would have been far less dull if you’d been around anyways.”

“You say that because with my luck someone would have started off after us.”

Sherlock smiled, “Mrs. Hudson isn’t storming up the stairs to check on us,” He commented, concern cutting his voice.

John started to pull out his phone, “Luckily, she was out shopping. And she does tell us when she does that, for the record. You just never listen. I’ll call her.”

“I have her on semi mute most of the time,” Sherlock concurred, “I’m going to go out and check the street then. See if anything is happening or if anyone knows anything.”

“Gonna go be a detective about it as well then, Sherlock?”

“Perhaps, John. It’s probably something dull though. Like a gas leak or something.”

“Don’t jinx it, Sherlock-!” John turned his attention back to his phone, “Ah- Mrs. Hudson?” He whispered.

“Yes, dear? I’m out getting the shopping - as you know. You’re a far better listener then Sherlock is. It’s a wonder you're such a dear considering who's raising you,” John chuckled at that, “Is there something you’re calling after? Did you need anything from the store? Has that berk forgotten to get your shopping again?”

“No. No, nothing like that. I just wanted to make sure that’s where you were, Mrs. Hudson,” John cooed back.

“Why is that, John? Did Sherlock do something to the flat again? That wall can only take so many bullets!”

“Ah, no. Not quite Sherlock this time anyways. You might have to wait to get into the flat however.”

“John.”

“It was on the other side of the street.”

“John. What was it?”

“An explosion,” He answered quite promptly.

“An explosion?”

“Blew in the windows.”

“Well, at least maybe it will save us from a bored Sherlock for a while,” She grumbled, “Well, John. Thank you for the warning. Do stay safe and away from the glass. I do hope Sherlock properly cleans it up for you.”

John chuckled again, “Don’t worry, Mrs. Hudson. I’m sure we’ll have it handled just fine.”

“I know you will, John. Really, quite mature for your age you are. I’m glad Sherlock has you - and so does he, though I doubt he says it all that often. Or at all really.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Hudson. I won’t keep you any longer though. I’ll see you when you get back.”

 

* * *

 

Mycroft came up the stairs after Sherlock, both simply watched as John was trying to sweep up the glass. The broom was nearly twice his height. He looked up and frowned at their surprised expressions, “Brooms too big - I know. Just laugh it up already will you? Get it out of your system so we can have the adult conversation that I’m sure this was supposed to be from the beginning.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes in response but allowed the smirk to hit his face. Mycroft on the other hand simply frowned, “I suppose you’ve changed your mind then since last time we’ve spoken?” He asked as he followed Sherlock over to unearthed, and free of glass, seats in the living room. Unlike Sherlock, he didn’t take a seat. He kept his eyes focused on John.

“Never boring,” John grumbled, “It is most certainly never boring.”

Sherlock snorted, “No need to sound so reluctant about our arrangement, John. You know you love it here.”

John stopped sweeping and stared at Sherlock for a moment. “You’re a right bastard,” He answered without any heat. 

Mycroft stared at John for a moment, and John had expected him to raise an eyebrow at the remark due to the abnormal attention but then he just nodded once, slightly, seemingly only to himself before turning his attention back to Sherlock, “As I told Sherlock, I am merely here to follow up on my last visit,” Then he turned not only his attention towards John, but the folder in his hands as well, “I was on my way to over to present you with this, John.” 

He watched John flip through the contents as he continued, “I have read it myself already, clearly, but it is that advice our friend in Japan wanted you to have after confirming that you are indeed under the effects of the same position their ilk has fallen under. As well as the blood work they returned to me as well. No one else, to my awareness, as seen the contents of that folder.”

“And what is it? What advice is there that they could give considering it’s nearly been a year of this?” Sherlock asked as he dramatically emphasized his comfort by taking a seat in his chair.

“I would highly caution you not to go drinking with our young doctor here any time soon,” Mycroft answered simply, “And that is all the advice I will give you as I do believe it would be John’s right to disclose any further information about his condition to you.”

“I would most certainly agree,” John mumbled reading the work up they’d sent him along with the letter disclosing the same information Mycroft had provided Sherlock with - and a bit more, “I’m taking this up to my room,” John commented a moment later, looking up, “Do try not to start a war while I’m gone, the street is enough of a blasted mess as it currently stands.”

As both Mycroft and Sherlock were looking at John, neither saw the fact that that the other was rolling their eyes at him. John smirked, “I do believe we’ll be fine without you,” Sherlock commented. He turned to Mycroft, “What really brought you over here? We both know you could have sent that over by carrier.”

Mycroft’s smile was strained, “Is it not enough that perhaps I wanted to see my brother?”

A playful glimmer entered Sherlock’s eye, “Mrs. Hudson will be glad to know that you popped over to visit your son.”

Mycroft gritted his teeth, “I’ve reason enough not to trust outside sources with any sort of information in regards to Dr. Watson’s current predicament.”

“Why worry now? You’ve already done up a proper paper trail to follow.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at the easily over defensive tone, “Yes. Indeed. Why would I worry about the possibility of interested parties using whatever it is in John’s system for their own ends? Why shouldn’t I let a carrier carry something that vital? We vet the carriers with the same level of scrutiny and give them the same level of trust as we do our deep cover portative. You’re right. How silly of me. 

“It was intended to kill him - and look at what it did instead. Who it brought out of the woodwork? I know more then a few parties that would be interested in its use, even unrefined to ensure that the latter is simply more likely the former response.”

Sherlock frowned.

“Do make it harder for me to remember that I’m the smarter one, brother dear.”

“It isn’t why you’re here,” Sherlock answered simply with a frown growing deeper.

Mycroft smirked, “Perhaps I also had a case I wanted you to address.”

“Not interested.”

“Not even going to listen?”

“I’ve been able to find plenty of cases,” Sherlock answered tightly, “Quite busy unfortunately.”

“Of course you ha-”

“What’s the case?” John interjected from the doorway with his arms crossed, “Cause I’m not watching this - Sherlock’s being petty. Details, Mycroft, if you would. He hasn’t anything better going on, and I’d rather a break from the assignments that prove that little John Holmes is rising up to the full expectations of a proper primary school education.”

“He is indeed,” Mycroft answered with a strained smile, “Though I think for that last bit that I read over, perhaps you could have chosen different names for the cast involved in that narrative?”

Sherlock sat up at that, “John? I thought you said Lestrade-” 

“I think William is a perfectly fine name,” John answered briskly, “And I would think it for the best if I didn’t use your actual name in the piece considering I’m rather proud of the work.” 

Mycroft’s frown deepened, “Considering Lestrade has published it online for you, I can only assume such. Perhaps the title though could have been given more consideration, John? I mean -  _ Herlock Sholmes and the Study in Pink _ ?”

“Herlock Sholmes?” Sherlock’s voice simply had no emotion in it, “And you renamed Mycroft to -  _ William _ ?”

John simply rolled his eyes, “Yes. I did. I figured it the most opposite I could get from the name Mycroft while still being smugly, unrepentantly British.”

“But - William?”

“It’s a perfectly fine name - unless you think there’s something wrong with it?”

“Of course not,” He answered just a little too quickly. John raised an eyebrow at him and stared, as if Sherlock’s face could provide the reason if he displayed it enough patience.

If Mycroft hadn’t recalled a similar discussion from a much earlier time in Sherlock’s life, about the finer aspects of the name ending with Sherlock loathing it, he would have been highly amused by the standoff the boys were having. As it was that he was in fact recalling mediating a fight over that very same matter when Sherlock was John’s current height he found his face carefully struggling to remain neutral rather than alarmed. 

Sherlock was getting sentimental, growing a heart, gaining a friend. And in the Holmes’ family - that was always an element found in the losing side. 

Mycroft simply cleared his throat however, “The case in question,” He started, breaking the cozy spell of easily distracting banter, “It’s for Queen and Country,” Mycroft stated simply, “Some highly classified blueprints have gone missing.”

“And why aren’t you using your own men to find them?” John asked.

“He thinks we’re bored and is trying to be a proper big brother by assisting.” Sherlock answered.

“You’re being petty. I have need of a detective, and you have the clearance for it.”

“That’s not enough for something like this,” Sherlock answered, “Why is it that you really want us taking the case? You haven’t given me a case in near a year-” Mycroft’s slowly raised eyebrow was an answer in itself, in part. He hadn’t given Sherlock a case since John had moved in. So Sherlock was being a little hyperbolic about the timeframe.

“Yes,” Mycroft answered tightly, “It’s boring and it’s safe.”

“Am I missing something?” John asked with an ever raising eyebrow.

“Brother dear here is telling me that the choice in casework must account for my being a father,” Sherlock answered, meeting John’s gaze with a stink in his eyes.

“I am not a child,” John answered.

“You saw what the file said,” Mycroft answered simply.

John felt his muscles betray him. They tensed. He knew exactly what Mycroft was alluding to. Sherlock, however, had not read the file.

Sherlock sat up straight, “John?” He asked, alarm settling very easily into his voice, “What is he talking about?”

John nearly opened his mouth to protest, deny, anything, but then he realized just what sort of a mad genius it was that he was considering lying to and he closed his mouth again.

Sherlock didn’t look away from John. Instead, he settling slightly back in his chair, not out of relief but resignation, “The advice is to tuck in for the long haul, isn’t it? They’ve admitted that the probability of a permanent cure isn’t likely, didn’t they?” 

John nodded, “The work on it is - slow to say the least. They had considered sending enough access to their work over that I might have availability to some temporary antidotes that they have in their ability to produce, but the use of those can easily build a resistance to anything that they might potentially discover down the road, and as such will not provide such unless I request such measures to be provided. There was even a form for that in the folder.”

“Ah.” Was all Sherlock managed to say before Mycroft continued speaking.

“And if something were to happen to you,” Mycroft stated, “What do you think would happen to John?”

John quickly looked away from Sherlock. Sherlock couldn’t pry his away if he’d wanted to, “Clearly his father would take him back -”

“His father couldn’t protect the boy’s mother from how I here the story goes and clearly the Holmes lot are prone to attracting danger. John would find himself in the system until he came to legal age to then do with himself whatever he wished. There is a reason he lives with his uncle after all.”

Sherlock stood up and strolled over to violin. He picked up the dust covered thing, and he blew of that dust in Mycroft’s general direction before tightening his bow. He glared at Mycroft for a moment before he started to play it madly with vengeance and without a bit of elegance.

Mycroft sighed, and before John could vocalize through his open mouth, “Sherlock, East winds always blow - I am just urging that you use a bit of caution-”

“I have been,” Sherlock snapped and the sound of music of the violin stopped with the same intensity, “And you know that.”

Mycroft frowned, and so did John but for very different reasons, “No,” Mycroft answered slowly, “I am afraid I don’t. Explain to me - ”

“He does,” John answered, “He just does and we’ll leave it at that. We won’t live half lives, Mycroft, just because of a fear for an unknown future. We always thought you’d keep up the expectations of familial connections, but I am wholly,” He straightened up, “I am wholly on board with those plans should the worse come about-”

“I’m not,” Sherlock snapped, “I am not fine with John having to pretend that he’s child-”

“Not your life, Sherlock. And you don’t get a say on plans that happen  _ if you die _ ,” John interrupted with clipped tones. He cleared his throat and fell back into his stiff military posture as the gaze of the Holmes boys fell on him, “And I’m not going to tell you to change up what sort of clientele we tend to either. This changes nothing. We hadn’t thought there’d be a cure anyways. This changes nothing going forward.”

“John-?” Sherlock furrowed his brow.

“You’re not dying,” John answered, “And should that come about then it will be best that we have it settled under the circumstance. So, Mycroft’s plans stand,” He smirked for a moment with a faint glimmer in his eyes, “Besides, if you’re in risk dying because of the clintle we chose? Then so am I. You’re just as likely to lose me as I am you. No reason to make a fuss.”

Mycroft’s gaze was filled with shadows while Sherlock’s awe, “You really mean this don’t you?”

“Don’t be an idiot, brother dear. If it wasn’t for his age, I’m sure I would have received a wedding invite by now. Of course he means that.”

“Not gay,” John answered tightly.

“That doesn’t make the relationship that the two of you have any less real or wholly committed,” He answered simply. John’s frown deepened as he didn’t know what to say to that.

Sherlock, for once, had a matching expression.

“Yes, yes, fine,” Mycroft cut him off, “If you want something a hair more thrilling then I do have a case for you still. Do you want to hear about it? Or are you still being petty?”

John raised a hand, “I believe I already answered for him.  Spit it out.”

Mycroft smirked, “The international wanted thief, Kaitou Kid, has announced that he’s set his heart on stealing a crown jewel. Will be performing the heist this upcoming Friday. If you could be a dear and stop him - that would be fantastic.”

“How is that dangerous?” Sherlock moaned, “Robbery-”

“What is intriguing about this case is that boy in question has known affiliations with a mysterious group that has no name, but two very distinct branches for their members that dress completely in black - and one of those branches includes that lovely lady you met your first night with Dr. Watson. Vermouth.”

At this, Sherlock sat up, “I’ll take the case.”

“I had rather thought you would at that detail. I’ll have all of my relevant information sent over in the morning then.”

“Not going to play carrier yourself again? I thought you said you couldn’t trust this sort of information in the hands of anyone else?”

Mycroft smiled, but he clearly wasn’t amused, “I assure you - the messenger will be just as charming to you I’m sure.”

They watched as Mycroft left, and Sherlock let out a slow breath as John checked his watch once the door closed, “Not even nine yet,” John said, “Go out for Chinese?”

“Better then looking at rubble.”

John rolled his eyes, “What do you think will happen in the morning? There has to be more to Mycroft's case then what he's telling us.”

Sherlock’s excitement didn’t hide at John’s prompting. The smile was all teeth and hunter with prey in its line of sight. “Oh, yes. Absolutely,” Sherlock purred, "And will be so much more interesting then a gas leak explosion and studying ash." 

"You know," John said, "Sometimes I think about what could have been. If this," He motioned to his shorter then average height, "Hadn't happened. And I realize if it hadn't, and we hadn't met. I could be a GP. I could have a wife. Kids maybe even. Something normal. Something safe."

"Oh, John," Sherlock slide into his coat with a flourish, "You know that wouldn't have lasted. You live for this just as much as I do. That would never have changed."

John sighed, and he tried not to think about it. He really did. He really tried not to think about how right Sherlock probably was about that.


	2. Inbound Flights and Carry Out Orders

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kaito Kuroba was in his last year of high school. He was best friends with Aoko, and her date. He was barely passing his classes. He’d sleep during class, but have all the answers anyways. He spent his weekends performing in a local park or somewhere else in Tokyo as a magician - like his father had at his age.

And like his father, he flirted with the moonlight as it’s own magician. He spent his nights up late preparing tricks and traps for his monthly escapades. He’s studied more blueprints then text books for his heists. He’d read more histories for gems then he had people as he searched for Pandora. The reason for his father’s murder.

The men in black - Snake and others - were chasing after him. They had chased after his father all in the name of immortality. Pandora was a doublet gem, and under the light of the full moon it cried tears for immortality.

So, when a heist note that he didn’t send out landed with the same time line? It sent shivers down his back. It had to be Pandora, or at least the idiot that was baiting him to complete the heist for them though enough for such extreme efforts to get him on to the job.

Because that’s what had brought him to London. Someone was impersonating him, and if he didn’t act then it would burn his name. He had a reputation to uphold, and he could not afford to let his name be stained by it.

Aoko. He was flying beside her with her dad on his other side. He glanced at her, and she had her nose in a newspaper. Her lips were moving, and he turned his attention to the paper in her hands.

English. A New York Times. She was practicing for the trip. Kaito looked back at the book in his hand. It was the sort of book he was expected to be reading. A trick book. In Japanese. He pulled out his phone, and he held it close as he pulled up the cached website and its novel.  _ Herlock Sholmes and the Study in Pink.  _

He looked at the Inspector to his right, and he saw the older man sleeping. He looked back at his phone, and he started to read. His fluency in English was something that he ensured wasn’t reflected by his grades. It was too dangerous.

Kaitou Kid and Kaito shared enough risk of overlap that he wasn’t about to make Saguru Hakuba’s claims any easier to believe. Even if he was living in England these days. 

Aoko listened to him these days. She watched him with more caution. It was only thanks to Akako’s assistance that Aoko wasn’t lingering over him with that suspicion. She hadn’t believed Saguru to at the beginning or in the middle. But that last night he’d shown up on her doorstep and asked her out. 

She had refused. She had been with Kaito and her father. They had been having dinner. But something in his eyes had pulled her away. After that, Saguru left she had started watching him more closely.

He asked why. She said it was something that he’d said. 

She watched with pained eyes. Almost sometimes almost tears. Maybe even concern.

Kaito went to extremes to keep the division out of the post heist games he played with the shooters that tried to take more then they should. After all, if it was known that Kaitou Kid was a target. They might make stronger moves to handle him since police would be involved. There would be a time clock, and they would take it personal. He feared they would take it personal.

Like they had Touichi Kuroba. Like they had his father.

He couldn’t risk it. That was why he’d started working with Conan. 

Well, why he let the boy keep meddling in his affairs. He was actually working with Conan because he’d fallen on the professor’s car after getting shot. It really hadn’t been much of a choice. He still didn’t know how he got stitched up, but eventually he knew everything Conan knew. Busy kid.

This time he had already known that he was being feed bait he couldn’t avoid biting. He had learned from Conan after the veiled call however the who and the why - It was the men in black they were chasing after. They’d just learned from the long list of failures that if they wanted to get him out of the board if he wasn’t going to work for them - then they’d have to change it up.

They decided to reach out to a consultant apparently, and that was dangerous because he was effective and hardly known. Conan’s contact, one Mycroft Holmes who had fingers in every part of the British Government, had hoped that Kaito might have answers about him, as they were both criminals. The name, Moriarty, had meant nothing to him.

So now, he was sitting on the airplane with Inspector Nakamori as he brought his daughter plus one to consult on the case. Conan had warned him that Mycroft might be able to spot him from the right away, and might have something in the plans for him when he landed. Mycroft wasn’t interested in stopping Kid. He was interested in Moriarty. Who, by what Conan told him, was a proper criminal.

Aoko had invited him with a smile hoping he’d take it as a vacation that they could spend together. She had invited him before Saguru had left. Sometimes he’d been talking about things casually, and she looked like she was about to say something. He had a dreadful suspicion that she had wanted to uninvite him. Like she had some suspicion of the storm ahead, but not his ability to handle it.

Because it would be handled. She didn’t know him. It hurt. The fact that he lied, and that he hid so much of who he’d been forced to become. It was the sort of pain that flashed in his heart and flared up in missing steps. 

He closed his eyes for a moment as it did exactly that. The pain flared up in his chest, and Aoko looked up at him.

If he didn’t have a poker face, she’d look like a mirror reflection of his broken heart. He smiled at her, and she went back to her magazine. He went back to his reading.

Heiji had said Herlock would be a fun read if nothing else. A bit mild on the murder mystery but thrilling all the same. And, he wasn’t like the other two hearing that it focused less on the murder did not detract from the work for him.

In fact, a fun - something thrilling - read sounded like a good break before everything hit the fan. Because it was. He knew there was no way that this trip would go well for him.

At least, he wasn’t like Nate. He hadn’t started his adventure already shot.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock and John were sitting in the Chinese restaurant down the street from 221b - the place they’d ate from that first night and ordered from prior to the triad kidnapping. “Lots of memories here,” John whispered as they found a seat while waiting for their order to finish.

“And less rubble,” Sherlock grumbled. He smirked at John and found him shaking his head.

“Stop it,” He warned.

“What do you think of the case that Mycroft brought us?” Sherlock asked instead.

John frowned, “Do you think it has to do with Moriarty?”

Sherlock nodded, “I do. It has to if she’s behind it.”

“Fair enough. You think she is?”

“Real question is why?” He leaned on the table between them with folded hands, “What is her employer trying to do and what is motivating her?”

“Moriarty,” John said slowly, “The consulting criminal.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned back in the booth, “Do you have your phone, John?”

“‘Course,” John grumbled, “Who am I texting and what about?”

“Lestrade,” Sherlock answered, “The bombing.  _ Bored _ .”

“Of bloody course,” John grumbled as he did exactly as requested. He didn’t look up when the bell rang announcing the next set of dinners.

Surprising considering the hour, but John really couldn’t speak about that. Mycroft’s visit had been late, and Sherlock pouring over his file after pestering John - “Either I read that - or I read your blog.” - had taken them even later into the evening before surfacing for food.

“Oi,” A sharp grumble came from the door, “Isn’t that  _ him _ ?”

John did look up at that, and Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the boy as they approached their table. Well, the tan one lead the other boy to their table despite his attempt to get away from the scenario, “We don’t have time for this, Hattori!” He hissed.

Hattori rolled his eyes, but he was standing at the end of their table before he could argue with his friend, “You’re Sherlock Holmes, aren’t you?”

Sherlock stared, and John answered, “That is me. Yes. What can I do for you?”

Hattori jumped, and then he glared at John. Annoyed at the boy interrupted what was clearly about to be him admitting some sort of admiration for the Consulting Detective.

But then to the surprise of everyone, he clapped his mouth close, and he stared at John like he’d found the holy grail without having to throw holy hand grenades. 

“Yes?” John asked.

Hattori closed his mouth because that had happened. His friend did nothing to hide his impatience. As the silence continued he was the one that broke it. He shoved his hand out to Sherlock, “Name is Shinichi Kudo,” He said sharply, “And I’m looking forward to the pleasure that is working together with you.”

Sherlock didn’t shake Shinichi’s hand, “Oh?”

Shinichi let out a slow breath, and no one had to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking.  _ My day just keeps getting better and better.  _ “Mycroft didn’t mention my name.” It should have been a question, but John found himself smirking at the statement. That was exactly what it was. A statement.

Clearly, This Shinichi Kudo knew Mycroft.

And he pitied the boy for that.

“Didn’t mention working with anyone in fact,” Sherlock agreed. He glanced at the tan man that was looking frustratedly at friend.

“Kudo,” Hattori hissed, “You didn’t mention it was Sherlock Holmes that we were flying out to-”

Shinichi moaned, “I do not have the time for this, Hattori. I’m going to order food. Do you want me to get your order in as well?”

“Whatever you order will be fine,” Hattori shrugged, “I’ll stick around to take it back to the room if you want to leave-”

Shinichi pinched the bridge of his nose, “I knew we should have just called for delivery,” He grumbled before wandering back up to the order counter.

Sherlock stared at Hattori, but then he turned to John, “You must be Nate then?” He asked, hopefully.

John froze, and he looked at Sherlock. No one had to be mind reader to know what he was thinking either. He didn’t like not knowing.

John started to shake his head, and Hattori glanced around before waving for John to slide in further so he could sit down beside them. John did so as the pit in his stomach grew from a seed to a fig - or into an avocado. It grew into something that actually had a pit.

“Herlock Sholmes,” Hattori whispered, “You’re the one actually writing it aren’t you?” 

“I don’t know-”

“There’s a temporary antidote, isn’t there?” Sherlock interrupted. It a quick cut through the tension that was tying up John. 

“What?” John managed.

Hattori’s brow furrowed, “Yeah? Didn’t that get passed on to you - We trailed Mycroft. You did talk to him, didn’t you?”

“He said we’d be getting more information in the morning,” John growled, “That bloody-”

Sherlock glared at John, “That is your -” He struggled to hold back a smile, “Father you’re talking about.”

John didn’t struggle to hold back his frown. He turned back to Hattori, “Your friend then?”

He nodded. He held out his hand, “Sorry. No one told we were working with you - Name is Heiji Hattori.”

“John Holmes,” John grumbled as he took the hand with a frown, “I’m sorry, but what are you talking about?”

“Kaitou Kid works in Japan,” Sherlock answered, “And Kudo is the son of an infamous Japanese novelist. Clearly, you two, despite your English, came then from Japan to assist on the case. Why - Because Moriarty. Or rather the other parties involved. Now, you might be wondering? Why teenagers from Japan to play at being consultants for the British Government?” Hattori opened his mouth to protest, but Sherlock mowed over him. He mowed over everyone, “Clearly they know something. They have access to information that Mycroft can not get ahold of. There is only one sort of information that fits that bill - field information. 

“You two are actively antagonizing an organization that has international clout. Again however - back to the age. Why? How? Simply - you’ve come across them. You read a small online mystery novel -”

“Series,” Hattori grumbled with a glance to John.

“And you recognize the source - the inspiration,” He corrected, “On sight. So, personally interested it, and academically so considering again the fact that you are Japanese and not English or from some other sort of English speaking country. You read it despite it being a second language to you. It’s a struggle. It requires investment and that might even be more then a passing personal interest in the narrative. Perhaps - Professional?

“Now, there’s also the company that you keep. Shinichi Kudo. I studied with his father, and I am well aware of the Conan Doyle series that I inspired that author to write-”

“You mean I’m not the only one-” John nearly shouted in surprise before wincing.

Sherlock cut him off with a glare, “So,” He strained the word as the conversation went back to it had been, “Shinichi Kudo has a history of exposure to detective novels. Maybe even fancies himself as such -  _ Or more likely is. _ ”

Hattori clamped his mouth shut at that.

“He saw something. They tried killing him, and now, just like John, he’s typically shorter then his usual height. You were looking into his disappearance, and then you got dragged into the mess that he has been investigating. Perhaps he’s been doing it - for revenge? Perhaps for justice or just out of the desperate hope that he can go back to living the life that he had before his near death experience. Doesn’t matter.

“He’s worried however about time because he’s literally on a timer. You’re not worried about that however so you’re use to it. He’s used it before, and you trust that you’ll know when to start to panic. There are then clear symptoms then of when the poisoning reasserts itself. It’s painful most likely and signified by physical pain. Which is why you act like you’re humoring him.

“However, the way you both were brought here on Mycroft’s behalf to work on this case implies a very deep level of trust in each other,” He cleared his throat, and John noticed Shinichi twitch, face a little bit more towards them before Sherlock finished, “Something that Shinichi wouldn’t have with Ran.”

Shinichi rubber necked looking at Sherlock. Sherlock smiled. He showed all of his teeth. “I still talk to your father.” He answered simply. Shinichi frowned at that.

Hattori glanced at John, “He really is like that?”

John nodded. He didn’t know what Hattori was referring to - the deduction, the way he never let anyone else talk during such or the confidence. All of which were firm aspects of Herlock because yes. He really is like that - every bit, all the time, everytime. And it was his therapy. He wasn’t going to  _ change _ Sherlock.

Although, now that he knew he was reaching internationally? It put a new spin on letting Lestrade post it online so he could share it with the rest of the station.

“Did I miss anything?”

Hattori shook his head, “Not a thing that I can think of. Although, did his father really tell you all about Ran?”

“Not at all,” He held up his phone, “I just googled your name while we were talking. It lead to discussions about the infamous Kid Killer - Conan Edogawa. An actual kid. Who is accompanied by a young girl and her father. Clearly, Ran is someone that Shinichi trusts emotionally, but not professionally. Thus - Girlfriend.”

Shinichi frowned, but he waited patiently at the counter. 

“Holmes,” They called out with a wave, “Order’s up!”

Sherlock nodded, “Thanks.”

“Eat here often?” Hattori asked.

John snorted, “They’re our second kitchen more like.”

Sherlock smirked, “Want to come over tonight?” He asked, “We can talk about the case early. Mycroft won’t know. He’ll hate it.”

Shinichi smiled, “John can lead me back to your place then while you two wait for our food to come up. Unlike Hattori - I don’t want to push it to the last minute.”

John nodded, and Hattori scrambled out of the way. Sherlock paled, recalling Hattori’s entrance. He watched John leave in a helpless sort of way, “Shouldn’t I lead Shinichi back?” He asked, “I’m sure Hattori has so much he wants to ask you about, John.”

Hattori snorted, “Oh no,” He leaned in over the table, “Now that I’ve seen it in person? Hell - I thought it - Herlock? I thought that was idolization til Mycroft got me dragged into this and Shinichi explained that you really were the world’s only Consulting Detective - at least until Shinichi can, you know, get a job. He’s trying to be the same thing now what with everything - Anyways I thought it was exaggerated how good you are! Dad’s a detective. I’m a detective. My best friend is one. But Herlock? A blink of his eyes and he’s deduced the truth. What you do is genius. Absolutely genius.”

John nodded towards the door, “Come on,” He whispered. 

Shinichi still hovered at the door as he watched Sherlock’s shuttered gaze, “You-” Sherlock managed, “You think that? After…?”

Hattori nodded, “Yeah? Why? What else would I say?”

“Piss off,” Sherlock answered honestly, “That is what people normally say.”

John smirked, “I keep telling the man he’s brilliant,” He grumbled, “Now, come on, Shinichi, was it?”

Shinichi looked at John and he nodded before following him out of the restaurant and into the street, “That,” Shinichi said slowly, “Was not a reaction I expected from Sherlock - not after everything my father’s said about him.”

“Read Herlock?” John asked.

Shinichi nodded, “I thought you had were putting a spin on it,” He said. John nearly winced at how apparent the boy’s head was still spinning, “I thought… I don’t know what I thought. I thought it was someone that was inspired to write a fanfiction about the source material - I mean, that’s what my father did. But in a second hand matter. He’s so human in Herlock compared to what my dad’s told me about him.”

John nodded, “Conan Doyle, right? Got a set for my birthday from Mycroft. Started reading the first book - and then threw the whole set in the fireplace.”

Shinichi snorted, “After meeting the man. After seeing that? I don’t blame you.”

“Yeah,” John rubbed the back of his head as they came up on 221b, “Rather insecure isn’t he?”

“For the picture of confidence that he is,” He watched John with slow, sad eyes, “And you write about it for the whole world to see. As an adult at his side.”

“He deserves to be seen,” John answered gruffly, refusing to met Shinichi’s eyes, “Even if he doesn’t think he’s got anything to be seen.”

Shinichi started to reply to that. John was sure he was going to ask about Nate in the work, but then he settled into a smile, “He doesn’t deserve a friend as good as you are.”

John shrugged at that. The English was stilted, and he figured it would be over dramatic to react to the implications against Sherlock. That he didn’t deserve to be seen. That Sherlock didn’t deserve someone to defend him against the ignorant masses that Sherlock shielded himself from with a caustic uncaring shell.

Instead, John shrugged and he answered before opening the door to lead off the street and into the flat, “Well then. It’s a good thing that we’re not friends then, hm? Sherlock and me? We’re family.”

Shinichi smiled at that, but then he furrowed his brow, “Dad only mentioned that there were two Holmes-”

“Family isn’t blood,” John answered with a smile, “It’s who we chose.”

* * *

 

 

Sherlock had put Hattori on semimute after their conversation drifted and he received a text from Lestrade.

_ If you want to know how the progress has been going on the bombing investigation you don’t have to use to John as a middle man. _

Sherlock smirked at the message.  _ Makes him feel useful. - SH _

“Ahou!” Was called out from behind the counter, and a fire filled Hattori’s eyes.

“I’m gonna -”

Sherlock snorted.

“Of course you speak Japanese.” Hattori panned.

“I’m not the idiot here,” Sherlock snorted as he rose from the table. He was out the door as Hattori grabbed the bags. 

He saw Mrs. Hudson leaving the flat, and he ran to catch up with her, “Is something wrong?” He asked quickly.

“Oh, no,” She answered pulling her coat tighter around her, “Your new client has a headache is all, and we’re all out of pharmacol for it. John offered to run out for it as not to bother my hip, but really - the boy was in so much pain and John’s so young. Of course I told him to stay here while I popped out for it-”

“You said Shinichi was in pain?” Hattori asked with enough concern that Sherlock didn’t have to turn to see it on Hattori’s face. He could hear it in the boy’s voice.

Mrs. Hudson nodded, and a pater of steps was the confirmation to Sherlock’s earlier deduction about the systems to Shinich’s return to Conan, “Poor boy,” Mrs. Hudson whispered, “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

“The pain killer will help,” Sherlock nodded, “If it gets out of hand though I’ll make sure he gets seen to.”

“Who are they really, Sherlock?” Mrs. Hudson asked. There was a noise that hit Sherlock’s ears, but it was too muted for him to recognize it. So, he ignored it.

“Clients from Mycroft,” He answered. He squeezed her elbow, “The next few days will be an extreme affair. Do not worry about it or us or John being involved in it.”

“You want me to stop asking about it, don’t you?” She asked.

He smiled, “I know better then to ask that of you.”

“I don’t know if I want the answers,” She muttered before looking away from Sherlock. She nodded slightly, “I’ll keep on the errand, but I’m not your housekeeper, Sherlock.”

Sherlock smirked, and he headed inside to find a Heiji sitting on the couch with a dejected frown. He looked up at Sherlock, “John is upstairs helping Shinichi find something to wear.”

Sherlock nodded, “I heard him scream from outside, didn’t I?”

Heiji shrugged, and he looked even more battered for it, “It made it all the way outside?”

Sherlock smirked, “We get all sorts around here. It’s late up no one will come around with questions.”

Heiji snorted at that, less out of humor appreciated and more from the shock of the statement.

“Tea?” Sherlock asked with a smile that was all teeth.

Heiji stared at the man peering at him from the kitchen, “Yes? No? Maybe so? Depends on if you really use that kettle for-”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “John exagerate-”

“I did not,” John shouted as he trotted down the stairs with a twin in his shadow, “But it’s a new one. So, I’d love a cuppa.” 

“I think I’ll brave one as well then,” Heiji agreed.

“Make that a full round then,” Shinichi grumbled, “Ready for the chinese now as well.”

John met Sherlock’s eyes and he smiled, “We’ll get it ready if you two want to take a moment to catch your breath.”

Shinichi nodded, “That sounds lovely. Thank you.”

John nodded, and he patted Shinichi on the shoulder as he passed by him to slip into the side door into the kitchen. Sherlock lifted John up onto the counter so he could grab the dishes he’d need while Sherlock started the kettle.

“Is it painful?” Sherlock asked softly. The two in the living room couldn’t hear.

John nodded, “Looked like what it felt like the first time.”

“Are you going to take their temps?” Sherlock asked as he helped John back down from the counter then.

“Yeah,” He muttered as he followed Sherlock around, taking the random things that Sherlock handed his way as he dished up the orders, “No reason not to. They’re for emergency uses after all.”

“Do you think you’ll have emergencies for them?”

“Are you telling me that you don’t think I should?”

Sherlock stopped, and he stared at John, “I could hear it from outside. Barely. But… I hadn’t realized.”

John smiled. It was broken and cracked, but it told Sherlock more then words could. John had heard more then his words had managed to say.

Sherlock hadn’t realized what it had been like for John to get to the way he was. It was not something that he had ever wanted to see happening to John.

“Well,” John whispered, “Best not need a reason to have a wingman then, hm?” He reached out to pat Sherlock’s shoulder, but found it best to rest his hand on Sherlock’s forearm. He squeezed it, and Sherlock found himself breathing again.

He hadn’t realized he’d stopped doing that.

He looked away from John. John sighed, “I am a grown man, Sherlock.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Sherlock grumbled, “There’s absolutely nothing else you could be.”

“We met for maybe five minutes, Sherlock. A year ago,” John whispered, “I don’t blame you for forgetting.”

“I’ve never-”

“What I’m trying to say is,” John said slowly, “That if it happens. It’s my call. My choice to make. It’s not something you have to worry about influencing. You don’t have to protect me in this matter.”

Sherlock nodded, and then he looked at John again. The man barely looked ten years old, and they’d spent most of the last year or so chasing criminals through London. Sherlock’s lips rolled up into a smirk, “You’re too good a shot for me to forget that you’re the one best trusted with the judgement calls between us, Dr. Watson.”

John bit back a laugh, but the glimmer didn’t fade from his eyes as they finished the last bits of readying the table.

“Damn right, I am.”


	3. Answering Phone Calls from Both Friends and Enemies

* * *

 

Hakuba Saguru lived in England. Sometimes. Other times? He lived in Tokyo. He liked it that way, personally. It was a time split because of his profession, but he did love both cities. 

Perhaps he just loved cities, but it made sense. The crowds meant that he’d always have somewhere to hide.

As a child, his mother had used them to play hide and seek with him. However now, years later, he couldn’t find himself looking back on the memory fondly. He had after all, found out that she wasn’t his mother. She never had been.

She still paid for his house in London, the taxes and the housekeeping and kept the shelves stocked for him. He had found her once, and he had asked her why.

She had smirked, “A secret makes a woman woman. But, don’t look at me like that, Saguru. Nothing is ever free.”

Now, he found himself playing hide and go seek with Vineyard once more. He had every hope that she didn’t know he was tracking her through London. He knew they were most likely wrong, but she was in his sight. It was the only thing that made the burden of his phone light in his pocket.

Aoko had texted him the moment they’d hit the tarmac that morning.  _ We’d love to see you! Kaito and I that is. _

And, perhaps it was as light hearted as it could easily be read as.

But, he’d been the one to give Aoko the folder of all the erased evidence that he’d - well, that he’d been the one behind hiding for Kuroba.

Not that that boy knew it.

_ It’s dangerous for Kid. This is why I want to believe I know who Kid is. Because I want to be able to stop him before he gets hurt. _

That was what he’d told her before he’d left Tokyo a month ago to come back to London. He couldn’t stay anywhere for long. As much as his father might have wanted him to stay in Japan.

Hakuba knew too much about his childhood - more then he’d ever dared to tell his father - to ever risk it.

“You shouldn’t let your mind wander.” Vineyard whispered in his ear. He stopped, and he turned before he knew it would be pointless. She was gone. She could have vanished into the store beside them as easily as the crowd behind him.

Hakuba pulled out his phone, and he rang Aoko.

“Moshi Moshi!” She answered, with a smile.

He smiled back, and he answered comfortably in matching Japanese. Even if he gained a few glances from the crowd as they passed by him, “Good morning, Aoko. So, You’re in London?”

“Is that alright?” She asked.

He rubbed the back of his head. He shouldn’t have told her, and he shouldn’t have shown her the pictures with the blood and bullet holes. He shouldn’t have let her see the bullet casings. She was consumed by the worry.

He hated it, but he understood Kuroba’s decision not to tell her. He didn’t know why Kaito theft, but he knew now why Kaito lied. Her consumption consumed him in return.

“As long as Kuroba isn’t Kid,” He whispered, “Then you’ll have a lovely vacation.”

“You think he is though,” She whispered, muffled like her hand was covering her mouth. It probably was.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been wrong about the culprit of a case,” He admitted. His mother was one of those. The first case he worked - “You wanted to met up?”

“We’re going to the NSY’s division that Dad’s working with to stop Kid from getting to the crown jewels,” She answered, “Was hoping to get out of that, but Dad won’t let us out of sight. Not when neither us kiddos can speak English comfortably anyways.”

Hakuba smirked, “Yeah,” He mumbled. His gaze once more surveyed the crowd around him, and he saw Vineyard smile at him. Her finger to her lips before she waved her farewell just to  vanish once more, “I can be there. I have connections they’ll let me in-”

“One moment,” She whispered, absentmindedly, listening to someone else.

“Oh!” She let out a moment later, “Dad just told me that Conan is here as well to consult with the Kid case!”

Hakuba pinched the bridge of his nose. With Conan’s track record, Kaito might actually be at risk of getting arrested. If he didn’t know about the reach of Vineyard’s organization he might have even wished it so he’d be put somewhere safe.

But there were dirty cops in every jurisdiction, and their wallets thick enough to buy even more.

“He’s brought a friend too,” Aoko added with a smile, “Another teen detective like you! Apparently he’s Conan’s translator.”

“I thought Conan spoke English? I thought he’d grown up in the States?”

With a name like that-

“He might have. Seems that Heiji Hattori might have just told them that was his job so he could get a free plane ticket. If only Kuroba could have earned his way here as well.”

Hakuba laughed at that until the name ran through his head once more, “Did you say - Heiji Hattori?”

“Yeah. Why? Is there a problem with that?”

 

* * *

 

John woke up to Sherlock standing in his doorway with a stopwatch in hand. John groaned.

“You’re improving, 15 seconds this time,” Sherlock answered.

“You say improving like I’m going to have to worry about people other then you watching me sleep,” John tossed over to face away from his bloody flatmate.

Sherlock shrugged, “Lestrade called.”

“You’re-” John snapped at attention, with murder in his eyes, “You’re bloody insane you are! You’re trying to train me like a bloody lab rat!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “It wasn’t a gas lead-”

“No,” John hissed, “You’re going back downstairs, walking up here, and then knocking on that bloody door!”

“John,” Sherlock said like he was the one being wronged, “Don’t be silly. Lestrade called-”

John pulled a bb gun out from under his pillow and pointed it at Sherlock.

“Where did you get that?”

“Lestrade.”

“When?”

“Christmas.”

“What? When?”

“The only-”

“I get that. I understand how Christmas works. But when did you get a present from Lestrade for Christmas?”

“At the station. After I told him you that you forgot to get me anything.”

“So he got you a gun.”

“He asked me what I wanted. I said something I could use to keep you in line. Then he got me a bb gun because we agreed that a paint gun would be a bit too much. Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t like it anyways.”

“Lestrade wants me shot?”

“Sherlock.”

“You want me shot?”

“Sherlock.”

Sherlock closed his mouth, spun around, stomped down the stairs, paused and then stomped back up them. He glared at John, but he knocked, “Lestrade called.”

John smiled, and then he nodded for Sherlock to continue as he jumped out of his bed to find something to wear.

“It wasn’t a gas leak. There was bomb, and there was a message with our names on it found in the rubble.”

“Our?”

“He’s had it xrayed to make sure it was safe. He said to bring you. That you’d know what it meant.”

John stopped and he looked up at Sherlock, “Did he say what it was?”

“A phone. He didn’t open it, but he thinks it will be pink.”

John dropped the shirt he’d been holding, “A pink phone?” He whispered, “Are you sure that’s what he said?”

Sherlock nodded, “I am. Does it mean something to you?”

“Maybe I should have let you read a Study in Pink after all,” John whispered, “I’ll be down shortly. Are the boys coming with?”

Sherlock nodded, “Conan and Heiji are here as consultants for the Kaitou Kid heist. They’ll be joining us to the station-”

“They’ve read Herlock,” John interrupted, “You haven’t, and I’m sure to miss something - because not you. Not a detective. Think at least one of them could join us?”

“What did you write, John?”

“It was therapy, Sherlock,” John started with, “I wrote what I wanted to. I wrote what I thought would happen if I hadn’t been poisoned. I turned John into Nathan - because John might not be short for Johnathan but that hardly means I’m creative. And so I reframed the serial suicides case with Herlock and Nate investigating. Instead of a disabled vet - it was a woman who had a pink phone.”

“I’ll make sure Conan stays with us,” Sherlock answered, “He’s the one taking pointing on the case in Japan. I’ll make sure Hattori stays alert for us in the Kid investigation as well.”

John nodded as he picked up his shirt again, “I wouldn’t be surprised if this all turned out to be one game.”

“Agreed,” Sherlock answered tightly, “Now hurry up, John. The game’s afoot.”

John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock as the man swirled with a dramatic flaw before running down the stairs to set their plans into motion.

John sighed.  _ Of course. Of course it was going to be that novel that gave him away. And not someone over hearing his medical lingo cause of death at a crime scene. _

 

* * *

 

Kaito didn’t know Hakuba and Hattori had a history together, but it soon became clear. By soon - As soon as Hattori stepped in and spotted Hakuba from the entrance, “And who invited that man here?”

Hakuba had been taking a swig of coffee like his life had depended on it, and Kuroba’s life had depended on him taking a spit spray at the shout.

Kuroba had good life security as Hakuba cursed at the pain - an odd mix between Japanese and English. Kaito didn’t try to understand what it meant. He wasn’t sure if there was any sort of sense to it, but the glare Hakuba threw at Hattori made all the sense of the world. Hakuba glanced around, “I thought you were suppose to be Conan’s keeper?” He asked, “And he’s not here. So who  _ invited you? _ ”

“Sherlock Holmes kidnapped Conan. Found out that Yuusaku Kudo is his uncle, apparently they go way back.”

Hakuba snorted, “That’s one way of putting it.”

Hattori raised an eyebrow, “So. I’m standing in for the infamous Kid Killer because he’s on the other side of the station in a different division. He’ll be here later, once Sherlock’s managaed to botch things up I’m sure.”

“Oh,” One of the Inspectors piped up, “I doubt Sherlock’s going to botch it up if he hasn’t killed his own kid yet.”

Hattori raised an eyebrow, “John’s his kid?” He asked.

“What?” Hakuba asked at the same time. They met eyes, “Sherlock has a kid?”

The inspector nodded his head slowly, “Yeah. I hear little John’s adopted. Something happened to his dad or something? Sherlock’s mum on it and we’re not asking the boy of course. But, ya look at em and you know it’s true. Wish I’d had that sort of relationship with my dad - props helps that Sherlock’s also teaching the boy. Don’t know how John handles having Sherlock with him 24/7 though. Reasonable kid after all. Nothing like Sherlock - Although, I think Sherlock’s better behaved these days?” He glanced around at the rest of the yard.

They nodded, “Gets wrapped up in showing off to the boy,” Someone grumbled, “Fewer insults that way.”

“Not that I would ever bring my kid with me to work - but he’s got no one else to watch John.”

“We need to find a sitter for Sherlock.”

“Do you remember what happened when we had that Chinese Triad case though? John was here and he’s the one that stopped the assassination attempt. And that was with Lestrade acting like a babysitter that day for Sherlock. Do you really think we’ll be able to find someone to handle what follows the Holmes family?”

“It explains why we haven’t managed it so far.”

“Especially with John looking as natural on the scene as Sherlock does. I’m sure he’d escape just to show up anyways. Even if nothing else does happen to them.”

“There’s that as well.”

Hakuba started to push his way past Hattori, “This I have to see,” He grumbled.

Hattori held him, “No,” He said simply, “We have a case of our own. You can find them later, maybe during lunch.”

Hakuba tore himself away from Hattori, and Kaito thought they’d start fighting over it. He raised a hand, “I’ll go check on Conan. After all, I don’t think Hakuba wants me here anyways.”

Hattori raised an eyebrow at Kaito. Might have been for his comment. It might have been the flagrant use of Japanese when everything else had been in English. Shit - He wasn’t supposed to understand English anyways. Hakuba was eyeing him.

He shrugged, “I heard someone say Kid Killer and then Hakuba tried to run away. I presume that’s what you were talking about then? My English after all? Not so great. So, If you give me directions I can check up on him.”

“Why wouldn’t he want you here?” Hattori asked slowly.

Aoko grabbed his arm, “He’s Kid’s fan-” She said.

“More likely,” Kaito sighed, “It’s because he thinks I am Kid.”

Hattori opened his mouth then closed it. He squinted at Kaito. Poker Face was a skill he never could shake, not even under a gaze like that.

“I don’t see it,” Hattori eventually commented.

Kaito shrugged, “Neither do I, but I really don’t want to hang around here-”

“Neither do I.” Aoko pipped up. All of the English was hurting her head. He knew what that was like.

Hattori nodded, “Well,” He scratched his chin, “I’ll just lead you to Lestrade’s office then.”

“I thought-”

“I just got it. I’d need to run a catch up by me anyways, Hakuba. Stay here and keep on with the good fight,” He patted Hakuba on a the shoulder and flashed him a shark smile, “I’m impulsive anyways.”

Hakuba simply glared, and Kaito took it as a win. He grabbed Aoko’s hand, and he smiled at her before they followed after Hattori.

“So you guys know Conan?” Hattori asked as the door closed behind them.

Kaito nodded, “Aoko here is the daughter of the investigator taking point on the case back home. He’s currently getting debriefed on the case by someone - I think she said her name was Anthea?”

Hattori nodded, “Makes sense. We got a debrief yesterday - not from Anthea, but same department.”

Kaito noted that, “Oh?”

Hattori shrugged, but he watched Kaito before smiling for a moment, “Yeah, got here a bit early. Wanted to do some sight seeing. Mainly wanted to sleep it. Worked out for everyone to come in yesterday. You two dating then?”

Aoko nodded, and Kaito blushed.

“I wish I had the balls to ask out Kazuha already,” He rubbed at the back of his head, “Want to get her something nice here though. Maybe I’ll ask her out one I get back.”

Aoko purred, “You should. You seem like a nice guy.”

Hattori laughed, “I doubt that idiot would agree, but I say that because she’s the first to let me know that I’m the idiot out of the two of us. Probably am actually.”

Kaito laughed as well, “Well, I’m sure you’ll be able to manage it.”

“How did you ask Aoko out?”

“He didn’t. I just started calling him my boyfriend and he hasn’t refused the title yet.”

Kaito could feel his face heating up as Hattori laughed.

“You know,” Hattori managed with a glimmer in his eye, “Maybe I’ll just try something like that. If it doesn’t work -then I can just say it was a joke and we can still be friends. That’s a good idea”

Kaito rubbed the back of his neck. 

He doubted their friendship would last if Aoko knew the truth. He should have refuted it the moment she’d pulled the stunt, but he’d been too stunned, too silently relieved to have the action pulled out of his hands.

He enjoyed living the lie.

He looked Aoko, and he squeezed her hand again. She still looked at him like he would vanish, but she squeezed back. They walked in a comfortable ease.

“Now we just have to get Ran sorted out with her boy,” Aoko purred. 

Hattori sputtered, and he looked like all the pieces snapped together, “Was gonna ask how you knew Ran, but I suppose she’s the one with Conan on the heists?”

Aoko nodded, “And Shinichi has shown up a couple of times.”

When Kaito needed an impromptu disguise. If it wasn’t so reassuring for Conan to know that Ran knew that he was still alive - he’d have been given the perfect murder treatment by the brat.

“So I would say I know that they’d be the perfectly adorable duo,” Aoko sung, “If only he’d ditch his stupid case to come back to her.”

“Yeah,” Hattori agreed softly, “Yeah.”

Kaito hid his wince. It was hard knowing everything, and lying about the same amount.

It wouldn't be clean for either him or for Kudo when the truth came out.

 

* * *

 

It was almost alarming to Sherlock watching John and Shinichi running around his feet as they exited the cab. Hattori clasped his shoulder, “Best of luck,” He managed to say before dashing off. 

The two boys, both apparently very use to pretending to be their apparent age, made a show that kept constant verbal questioning at bay. No one stopped them to ask who the new kid was with Sherlock. It was clear that John had a friend  - especially since Shinichi was also legitimately trying to teach John Japanese - and most of the station found that reassuring.

But that didn’t stop Sally from blocking his path to Lestrade’s office. “Kidnapped another one, Freak?” She asked with crossed arms.

Shinichi stopped talking and looked up at the officer, “Furiiku wa nihongo de nani, Sherlock-san?”

Sherlock glanced down at Shinichi and smirked at the boy, “Be nice to the officer, Conan,” Sherlock purred, “Use English. Try your best at it anyways anyways.”

“Um-” Conan looked away, and the met Sally’s eyes again for a moment before looking back at Sherlock, “What does the word freak mean, Uncle Sherlock?”

“Uncle? You’ve got another nephew?” Sally panned with a glare.

“He’s my friend!” John answered, quickly curling an arm around Shinichi’s shoulder’s. They swung back and forth, “Friends are like family! So I told him to just call Sherlock Uncle Sherlock as well!”

“You never call him uncle.” Sally answered with a frown.

John shrugged. 

“He did ask you a question, Sally,” Sherlock cut him off, squinting, “He’s come all the way from Japan, are you going to break his little heart by ignoring it?”

Sally frowned, “Yeah, ‘cause I was asking you a question first - John doesn’t have friends, freak. What did you do to change that?”

All three of them stared at Sally, and only Sherlock was managing to keep from expressing more then a very solid poker face. Even the officers at the near by cubicles that could hear them was staring and listening appaulled at Sally’s words against hte boy. 

“Why wouldn’t John have friends, Sally?” Sherlock hissed, “Do you think that just because you only see him at crime scenes?”

“That and the fact that you homeschool him,” Sally answered with a cross of her arms, “Freak like you must be keeping him locked away from the rest of the world so you won’t be a lonely freak in your freakiness.”

“Lestrade wanted to see us, Sally,” Sherlock answered slowly with a tightened expression.

“Yeah,” Sally nodded, “I bet he did.”

Shinichi cleared his throat and Sally glanced down with a raised eyebrow, “The adults are talking-”

“Just because you didn’t make it home last night doesn’t mean you should be such a grumpy pants, lady,” He said with a glance to John, “That was the right expression, wasn’t it?” John nodded. Shinichi looked back up, and his fierce frown was back on his face, “Yeah. Don’t be such a grumpy pants! I mean, I would be to if I had to share my bed with someone else, but it always seems to make parents  _ happier _ \- not grumpier like you are right now!” Sherlock would have graded the little emphatic stomp as a little too much, but considering the content of the topic… No one noticed. He glanced at the officers that had been appalled, and found them struggling to breath, and to keep from making a sound that might give their eavesdropping away.

“What was that?” Sally whispered slowly.

Shinichi looked up at Sherlock, dazed look on his face, “You see it too,” He hissed, “Doesn’t everyone?”

Sherlock might have rolled his eyes or joined in the act otherwise, but after the year of not even trying to cut corners to accommodate John, he didn’t even bother to show interest in the child’s ability, “I find that they only keep up if you explain it to them. What they’re missing that is.”

Shinichi nodded as if he was taking in the advice, “I see,” He rubbed at his chin, “It’s the smell - your smell is like my dad’s or Sherlock’s, only men smell that way not boys - so it’s a very masculine? But you’re a lady! So you would have smelled like a lady home if you’d made it home, I guess. Or a lady bath. Momma always smells like a lady despite always being around daddy. It’s probably the soap now that I’m thinking about it. So that’s how I knew you didn’t make it home last night. The scuff marks on your knees are how I know you shared a bed. Momma gets the same marks occasionally on her knees. She never explains how that happens though. Occasionally I’ll share a bed while sleeping over at a friend’s house - but I never get those scuff marks! Could you tell me, Officer? Could you tell me how knees get scuffed when you share a bed with your friend?”

Sherlock was struggling to repress a smirk as Sally struggled to regain even a shred of color to her face, “It’s not important-”

The door behind Sally opened slowly. Sally didn’t notice until a breath hit her neck, “Sally,” Lestrade growled. The eavesdroppers would have loved to hear Lestrade put her in her place, but his voice was low and quiet. “What did I tell you about talking to Sherlock Holmes?”

Sally would have frowned, but considering the proper excuse it was from Shinichi’s line of questioning she looked nearly eager to answer Lestrade, “To leave the freak and his family alone.”

“Exactly!” Lestrade barked as Shinichi climbed up on the table pressed next to the door. He stared at Lestrade and Lestrade stared back at him. They both stared at each for a moment before Shinichi opened his mouth. “Sally won’t tell me what freak means?”

Lestrade rubbed the bit of his nose between his eyes, “Sherlock!” Lestrade whispered in defeat, “Get your kids under control for me please.”

Sherlock quickly grabbed Shinichi off the table, settled the clearly not a teenage detective on one hip, and held a hand above John’s hand for John to grab. John jumped slightly, latched on, and he was pulled up high enough to latch onto Sherlock’s neck, and then Sherlock settled the newly freed arm around John so he could breathe again. He looked pointedly at Sally, “I encourage curiosity,” Sherlock purred, “Don’t think I’ll step in if Conan asks again.”

“Really? Conan like the detective novels?” Sally rolled his eyes, “Would have thought you’d have named the first kid -”

“I’m gonna be a detective some day,” Shinichi squealed. It cut off Sally and nearly ruptured Sherlock’s ear, “Like the one my uncle Yuusaku writes about,” Conan leaned close to Sally and shook his finger, “Don’t think I’ll never figure out how the state of your knees happened! I’ll need to know for when I grow up to be consulting detective as well.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes before turning away from Sally, pulled Shinichi further away from Sally. “Children,” He grumbled, “Never know what they want to be when they grow up.” John flicked Sherlock’s ear at that comment. 

Sherlock followed that up with a slight glance at John as they entered Lestrade’s office and it was soon followed with a smirk that no one else saw as he set the boys down in the center of the office, “Now,” Sherlock purred, “No more climbing up on desks.” Shinichi rolled his eyes, but wandered off to look at the bookshelves in the office while John stayed at his feet.

Lestrade, still standing the door, quickly closed the only way into his office and snapped the shades closed on it before proceeding to do the rest with the rest of the blinds to his office, “The envelope is on my desk,” He whispered as he turned away from his work work with the shades.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “You said it was harmless?” He asked without moving. Lestrade nodded, and his gaze drifted to Conan, “Conan Edogawa is renown in Japan for his efforts - in the papers for his work with the near captures of the internationally sought Kaitou Kid Phantom Thief. I stole him from his keeper this morning, but he’s supposed to be consulting on that case.” Sherlock smirked at Lestrade.

“But - Off the papers?” The Detective asked.

Shinichi grew deathly still as he watched Sherlock answer, “Rumor around the local police station is that he’s the ill fortune token of death due to the frequency of his unintentional appearances on vicious crime scenes.”

“So - He’s like John?”

Shinichi finally turned around, fear unhidden, “Like John?” He whispered, tucking violently on Sherlock’s sleeve.

“Yeah,” Lestrade scratched the back of his head, “Prodigy sort of thing. John’s learning forensics sciences and stuff at home with Sherlock. I swear he’s better then the man I have on staff sometimes. Real mature as well, like if I tried to keep away from the crime scene, that wouldn’t much matter, sort of thing, since he’d just find a way back to it anyways.”

Shinichi slowly nodded, “Oh,” He answered, “Yeah. That’s one way of putting it.”

Lestrade smile was tight at that, “Didn’t know the Japanese -Anyways. Above my paygrade. Don’t want another visit from your brother, Sherlock. I’m cooperating, and I get it. I won’t talk about the work he includes in the efforts with whatever this is. Just want this bomber off the streets, and he blew up an entire city block to get you a phone like the one from a Study in Pink.”

John wandered away as Lestrade watched him, “Is there a reason why someone might try to recreate a fictional phone from a fictional story - just to get the attention of the two of you?” He asked slowly. Sherlock opened his mouth, but Lestrade held up a hand, “I don’t need you obstructing my investigation. I’ll decide what goes on record.”

Sherlock nodded, “Then, I have no idea.”

“Hogwash, Sherlock. That is complete and utter hog’s wash.” Lestrade growled. He nodded towards the seat across from his own for Sherlock as sat down in his own.

Sherlock took the seat, and he watched the envelope itching to open it, “I don’t actually. Can I open the envelope?”

Lestrade sighed, but he nodded.

Sherlock picked up the envelope that was addressed to both him and to John. He held it up to the light, examining the paper. He grunted before turning it over and looking over the handwriting. He didn’t see John rolling his eyes, “Want to inform the rest of us?”

“Bohemian for the stationary - meaning that it’s international stock. A Parker Duofold fountain pen with an iridium nib. Fingerprints?”

“Nope. Did a full forensics once over - that’s how we know it’s not going to blow up.”

“Interesting. You thought she’d bomb across the street to blow me up? Genius that, Detective Lestrade.”

Lestrade frowned and glanced at John, who was frowning as well, “She?” He asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Female. Obviously.”

John frowned, but Shinichi was crawling up the chair beside Sherlock to get the better look, “Yeah,” He commented, “That is pretty obvious, but in a subtle way. Think it’s a ploy?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “Why do you think a ploy?”

“Herlock,” Shinichi answered, “The color of the phone case, the lady’s jacket, shoes and fingernail polish were this shade of pink in the text,” He looked up at Sherlock, “But was it this color in real life?”

Sherlock shook his head, “There was no lady in pink. No phone.” He admitted. Lestrade’s eyebrows raised as Sherlock nodded taking the point in.

“Then, why is the bomber calling you two out by referencing Study in Pink? If the case never happened?”

“Shit.” John whispered from Sherlock’s other side.

“Not the way I would have it,” Lestrade grumbled, “But you mean the bomber knows who actually wrote Herlock?”

Shinichi shrugged, “Maybe they’re not as wide reaching as we think and aren’t able to access official files to know what actually happened, maybe they think Herlock is what really happened...”

Sherlock stared at Shinichi as the boy winced during the trailing sentence. His gaze followed Shinichi’s to John, “Or they’re trying to make a statement about John. Because they know.”

Shinichi nodded, “And they think that you don’t already know who they are.”

Sherlock nodded. He looked at John, “If you want to say it again for me,” He grumbled before he pressed down on the power button to turn on the device which once awoken let off a notification sound.

“Shit,” John hissed again before stomping a few steps away.

If anyone had looked up at Lestrade, they would have seen his lips repeating the word as well.

Shinichi raised an eyebrow as he watched over Sherlock’s shoulder, “Already have a message waiting for you,” He commented as Sherlock swiped it open.

beep.

beep.

beep.

beep.

beep.

“Five pips,” Shinichi whispered. Sherlock nodded. It was a warning.

“That isn’t the entire message though,” Sherlock added as he showed the boy the picture before turning it to the other occupants in the room.

“What is it?” John asked with a hopeful gaze up to Sherlock.

“It’s just the inside of a room,” Lestrade added with a shrug before freezing, “Wait - Is there a code on the wallpaper or something else in there that I’m missing?”

“I know exactly where this is,” He answered softly. He looked at Shinichi, “I presume you want to stay with us?”

Shinichi rolled his eyes. Like he had to ask. 

After all - They had a lead on Moriarty.


	4. Starting of the First Puzzle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit shorter today, but lots of bases covered. See ya again tomorrow.

* * *

 

 

“You think someone’s been down here?” Mrs. Hudson asked as she unlocked the door to 221c Baker St, “Because since I have had you check out the room I haven’t even had a reason to pull out the key! No one’s been in here since-”

“Wrong. Someone has, and recently,” Sherlock grumbled as swept down the stairs to see what the bomber had left for them. Lestrade right behind him and the boys behind him.

 

* * *

 

Lestrade stood in the doorframe beside Sherlock as they stared at the pair of shoes that sat in the middle of the unused flat. A firm hand stopped him from stepping forward. Sherlock turned back to the man that was keeping him from the Work and raised an eyebrow, “What? I have work to do.”

“It’s a bomber that put it there-”

Sherlock looked away. Shinichi slipped by their feet, and he smiled at Lestrade, “I doubt he’d send us down here to blow us up!” He beamed, “After all - he already blew up Uncle Sherlock’s windows!”

Lestrade paled, but he let Sherlock go.

Sherlock nodded to Shinichi and he neared the shoes in the middle of the room. He’d just gotten down on his hands to brace for the closer inspection when the phone pinged again.

After a moment, once he could see the screen, he saw that instead, it was a phone call, and he quickly answered but kept silent. He glanced back at the crowd behind him. John nodded, firm and military still.

“Hello, Sexy?” The worn voice spoke from the other end.

“Who is this?” Sherlock answered with calm precision.

“I’ve,” The woman choked as she bit back a sob, “Sent you this little present - as a way to say hi.”

“If you’re the one that sent this just to say hi - then why are you crying?”

“Oh- I am not the one crying,” The woman answered from the other end, “I’m typing and this dumb,” Another choked sob, “Bitch is reading aloud.”

“What are you playing at?” Sherlock asked.

“It’s a game, Sexy,” She answered, “And you have 12 hours to solve it - or else - I’m going to be very naughty.”

A sharp click, and Sherlock turned back to Lestrade who had an eyebrow raised. Sherlock turned his attention back to the shoes, “It’s a puzzle,” He answered, “And if I don’t solve it in the next twelve hours - boom.”

“Want me to take John and Conan out of sight so you can work?” Lestrade asked.

Sherlock smirked, “We have a bomber, and you want to keep John close to your side?”

“You helped us improve the security at the station,” Lestrade grumbled.

Shinichi glanced at them and John shrugged, “Story for -”

“We were hired to prove we could break in. And then to explain how we did until we couldn’t. I told them we still could, but after the 12th they just told us to stop.” Sherlock answered.

“Because it was getting ridiculous.” Lestrade added, “No one. No one would have-”

Shinichi coughed, “12 hours?”

Sherlock smirked, and he winked at the kid. “Come on then,” He whispered, “You two swing by the station with Lestrade. Check on the Kid investigation. I’ll be at Bart’s.”

Shinichi turned to John, and the littlest Holmes nodded, “Got it, Sherlock. What’s the puzzle with the shoes though?”

“Crimes require bodies,” Sherlock answered, and he held up the shoes, “Our consulting criminal just gave me a body from a boy who died decades ago.”

“Oh?” Lestrade managed, his eyes wide.

Sherlock nodded, “It’s the style of the shoe. I need to run some tests on them however to confirm some things.”

Lestrade nodded, but then he frowned, “Consulting Criminal?” He asked.

Sherlock smiled for a moment, but then he looked at John and the mirth was lost. 

The envelope was for both of them.

Moriarty wasn’t baiting Sherlock with these puzzles, anymore then their bomber was female. After all - ‘I’ll tell you  _ his _ name.’ 

That was what Vermouth had told him on that first night.

It was a faint. He was flirting with Sherlock’s intellect, and that was bait to distract from the fact that both of their names were on the invitation. 

What happens when a parent is lured away from their child?

They were taken.

But John wasn’t a child. He couldn’t be taken. He couldn’t be brainwashed in the same way that a child could be. Moriarty couldn’t try to raise him as his own, stockholm syndrome or its like. 

Especially considering how firm his sense of identity had to be considering how he hadn’t given a single inch of it over the last year. Might be more reckless considering the work Sherlock dragged him into - but he had joined an active war zone as a doctor when he could have been stationed on a base somewhere comfortable and worked as a GP. Or stayed in the civilian sector and made better money.

Which meant he was only safer from being able to forget under trauma-

Sherlock pulled his eyes away from John. He tried to keep his imagination under wraps -

Torture.

_ John’s lip was enough to service for a slap to begin with, but as the fire flamed in John’s eyes - more drastic measures - _

Psychological abusive.

_ Food one day. Nothing the next. Moriarty after that with the plate in hand. ‘If you want to eat today. You have to ask for it, for permission.’ _

Sensory deprivation.

_ Solitary days for the doctor. Perhaps mirror to stare at over the sink in the cell. He’s only a child in the eyes of his captor, and perhaps- _

\- and he stared at Lestrade, “It’s a case we’ve been working on.” He somehow managed to keep a steady voice, “We suspect there will be overlap between the pips and the Kid heist this weekend. As Conan pointed out,” He whispered, “Time is of the essence.”

Lestrade nodded, and he started to herd the boys out of the room. John dodged the arm, “I’ll be up in a moment.” He whispered.

Lestrade nodded, and Shinichi quickly ran up the stairs before him. They were alone a moment later.

“What is it?” John asked.

“Nothing,” Sherlock answered.

“You’re not playing that game with me, Sherlock. We’re honest-”

“I would rather be wrong,” Sherlock answered, “We’ll know soon enough, and I’ll tell you when I know for sure.”

“Sherlock,” John whispered, “I trust you with my life, you know that right?”

Sherlock nodded. That was what made -

“But that doesn’t mean you’re in charge of it. You’re my friend. We watch both of our backs - not simply each other’s. You don’t have to carry this alone. Tell me what’s just be put on your back.”

“What makes you think-”

“He’s playing a bloody game with lives!” John snapped, “And you look like you’ve had someone walk over your grave - or perhaps mine considering how your eyes lingered on me! So tell me, Sherlock. We’re not the ones playing games with each other.”

“We aren’t, are we?” Sherlock frowned. He rolled his eyes, “It’s you, John. I think, Moriarty is after you, and I highly doubt it’s to kill you just to get you out of the way. Like it would be with me. Kidnapping and attempts at brainwashing. After all, a Holmes as a second generation consulting criminal? Think of the harm that would do.

“Why else label this for both of us and then limit the first game to my involvement? Why play to the old sense of lone wolf I’d have while working cases? To bait me away. To distract me from the truth. To isolate you. Me. Us.”

John nodded once. He looked constipated for a moment. Sherlock almost thought he’d have to waste more of their time explaining what had terrified him.

“See?” John managed to choke out a moment later, “Didn’t die telling me that, now did you?”

“You’re taking it rather well,” Sherlock said with a tired, worn gaze, an unspoken  _ And this is why I wasn’t going to tell you. _

John glared at Sherlock, and a smile curled on his face, “We’re going to give him hell, Sherlock.” John said simply before turning away and marching away. Sherlock followed with the shoes in hand. “Like hell I’ll go simply,” John continued, “And like hell you’ll let him outwit you. It won’t come to ill. We’ll beat him, Sherlock.”

“Yes,” Sherlock answered with a smile of his own forming, “I supposed we will, won’t we?”

“Damn straight we will. Now, since we know what he’s planning - What  _ are _ we going to do in response?”

“You had better come with me after all,” Sherlock answered, “After all. The skull just draws attention.”

 

* * *

 

Hattori got them lost in the station.

Once Hattori’s phone buzzed with a text, Kaito knew it had been done on purpose. He met Kaito’s eyes, and then he smiled, wide and charming. Aoko’s hand squeezed his. He rolled his eyes.

“Apparently, Conan and their lot have already left the station. So,” He purred, “How about ditching? If we go to the palace we can say it’s for my case anyways.”

“Oh, Just so Kaito can case it?” Aoko asked, innocently trying to be cheeky considering Hakuba’s claims around him.

Heiji’s smile widened, “Hakuba will love that.”

Kaito groaned, “I’m not- I’m really not trying to antagonist the man.” His act was the perfect picture of reluctance. 

But it was an act, he was chomping at the bit to do exactly that. He was chomping at the bit to find out why Shinichi wanted him to do that from the get go, before they even touched base.

Because they hadn’t had the chance to talk yet. Between the flights and their appointments and their audiences.

“But I am,” Heiji answered, “Besides - Do we really think that they’ll learn anything there? Hiding in an office?”

“Do you mind if I text Hakuba and let know that way he can focus on his work?” Kaito asked.

Hattori frowned, “Hakuba?”

“Yeah, you know. Our mutual detective friend,” Kaito answered.

Hattori smirked, keeping up with Kaito’s sleight of hand, “I don’t know if I’d call him friend, but yeah,” He answered, “I think you’ve got the right idea.”

Kaito slipped his hand away from Aoko so he could pull out his phone and text, and Hattori lead them out of the station so they could catch a cab or go to the tube. Aoko and Hattori bickered over it.

Pipsqueak was the name he had Shinichi under in his phone.

_ What did you find out? _

_ In person.  _ Was buzzed back to him seconds later. A second message buzzed back moments later,  _ Anyone interesting so far? _

_ Hakuba Saguru invited himself into the Kid investigation. Like he would in Japan. _

_ Anything else I need to know about him? _

_ He invited himself onto the investigation because he thinks he knows who Kid is. _

_ What do you think of him? _

_ Dangerous. He keeps me on my toes anyways. _

_ Make sure you three stay out and uninvolved in anything.  _

_ Including murder investigations? _

_ Do not let Hattori near a single crime scene. We’re trying to keep a low profile. I’m telling him that now, but he won’t listen.  _

_ Cause trouble if you have to, Kaito. To distract him. _

_ Don’t have to ask that of me twice. ;) _

_ I’m not apologizes to Hattori for you. Again. _

_ Fair.  _ Kaito texted back quickly before pocketing the phone and taking Aoko’s hand back. He brushed it against his lips, and he smiled at her.

Their eyes met, and for a moment it looked like her fears melted under his gaze.

Until Hattori choked at the sight of them. Then the moment was ruined.

 

* * *

 

Lestrade stared at the boys as they exited his squad car, “You want me to do what?”

John raised his hand, “I wanna go to St. Barts.”

“And Sherlock didn’t take you why?”

“Because,” Conan purred, “I need you to take care of taking him so you can ditch me on someone who can speak Japanese but wasn’t invited to meddle with the Kid heist prep!”

Lestrade raised an eyebrow.

“Saguru Hakuba!” He provided.

“Ah,” Lestrade panned, “And is there a reason for this?”

“Been texting Sherlock,” Conan said, swinging back and forth on his heels, “We think he might be involved with Moriarty, and I know him from a case or two in Japan.”

“And Sherlock’s going to make Molly cry if he’s left alone without a handler,” John added.

Lestrade pinched the bridge of his nose.

There was no argument from him about John being the parent in the relationship he had with Sherlock. Conan was unnerving - simply because of who he was.

“Fine,” He grunted, “Yeah. Of course. Nothing bloody insane about any of this.” John snorted, but Lestrade motioned for John to climb back into the squad car, “I’ll  be back shortly, John.”

“What if I get kidnapped?”

Lestrade, like a defeated man, stared at John, “If you don’t already know what to do if that happens then don’t let that happen.”

John’s hand twitched, and Lestrade would have sword he was about to get flipped off, but John scratched at his chin with a caught smil on his face, “I’ll be here!” He beamed, and it was sickingly cute. In that the boy was trying too hard, and Lestrade knew it. He could never shake the feeling that John was playing him like a fiddle, but right now? He was pretty certain it wasn’t so much a feeling as it was a fact. “Just don’t take too long or else we’ll be walking past a Molly running away from Sherlock with tears running down her face.”

Lestrade held out his hand for Conan to grab it, and he locked the squad car up behind him with the youngest Holmes in it while he led the Japanese spy kid inside the building so he could covert interrogate a lead on their case.

Lestrade glanced down at Conan, and for one brief moment he wondered a very dangerous thing.

_ Could this case get any weirder? _


	5. The Spider's Web Starts to Weave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologizes for the delay. Edits were kicking me in the gut. So I took a break because I was just making things worse rather then better.

* * *

 

 

Lestrade had John’s hand as they walked through the hospital, “Want to tell me why I’m actually the one bringing you here?”

“Already said. But it’s also because Moriarty might be watching. Or someone else. If we’re wrong that is.”

“And are you Holmes lot ever wrong?” He asked.

“Sherlock? He’s wrong about a fair bit. Have you ever actually heard him use your first name?”

“You mean he doesn’t know?”

“That or that the earth revolves around the sun,” John answered with a smile.

“Blimey,” Lestrade let out slowly, “What do you think you might be wrong about?”

“Depends on how the lead on the Kid case goes,” John admitted slowly with a quick glance around, “Might be able to lock down a confirmation is all,” He said with a nod.

“So you think Kaitou Kid is Morarity?”

“Not at all,” John answered with a quick glance up, “We think Moriarty is going to target the heist with this bombing.”

Lestrade opened his mouth for a moment, but then closed it, for only a moment, “Do I want to ask why he’d bomb it?”

John opened his mouth for a moment, but then closed it, for only a moment himself, “No. Not really.”

“But you do know why?”

John nodded, “There was a quick debrief this morning - and I assure you. I barely believed what was going on.”

He struggled to smile at that, but it felt like the only thing he could do at the face of that. If John with his  ‘training’ felt that what was going on was too ridicous to believe then he had no hope - and no desire to hear what the truth of the matter was.

 

* * *

 

Kaito started to trail behind the tour guide as they went through all the sights of Buckingham Palace, and Hattori fell back with him.

“Aoko didn’t look so disappointed when she found out the crown jewels are actually kept else where.” Hattori commented, his voice low and soft so they wouldn’t be heard. He spoke in English as well, further blending their conversation into the rush around them so Aoko wouldn’t notice them.

“Is there a reason why you lot want to keep me off the board right now?” Kaito asked, just as quiet and just as fluent in his own English, “I know the heist is bait…”

“We think you might be in danger before the heist.”

“And that’s why our friend wanted to know if…?”

Hattori nodded, “Exactly.”

“Heist is on Friday. Tomorrow is Tuesday. I need to break into the most secure spot in England. Without getting caught - or killed.”

“Clearly we’re keeping you in the loop.”

“Clearly, I’m doing the same.”

Aoko glanced back at them as the tour stilled, and they fell back in step beside her. Hattori took his place back as their translator, often forgetting to make sure Kaito was getting equal attention.

Kaito pulled out his phone. Being bored and distracted would be more then cover enough for Hattori’s slip ups. And it would provide him with a send out a text to the pipsqueak that was calling the shots.

_ Tonight?  _ He asked simply.

It took Shinichi a while to reply but he got it.

_ Tonight. @221b Baker’s St - Can you make it? _

Kaito smirked, and he tried to answer. Shinichi followed up too quickly.

_ I don’t need your snark. So don’t answer that. _

Kaito smirked.  _ Kay, boss. ^^\ _

_ I literally hate you rn. _

_ You love me. _

_ You need a new dictionary if you’ve lost track of what the word literally means. _

_ You have literally wounded my heart. :,( _

_ Yep. _

 

* * *

 

Saguru stood in the coffee shop beside Conan as he fluttered about with his order. Fluttering about because Saguru kept telling him he couldn’t order a drink with coffee in it, and he kept picking every drink on the list that had coffee in it. He kept trying to say the name fast enough for Saguru to slip up and accidently agree to it.

So far the kid had tried to order a cappuccino, latte, and an americano with variations of each, “Machia-” Conan tried anew.

“How about a green tea?” Saguru asked, “A green tea latte?”

Conan closed his mouth. He frowned at Saguru with a face that was not amused, “My parents let me get coffee.”

“No they don’t.”

He kept frowning, “I’ll take one of what ever he’s getting.”

“I’m sorry, kid,” The barista shrugged, “I am pretty sure he’s gonna shoot that down.”

“Then he’s the one that shouldn’t be getting coffee! He should be setting the example!” He squealed with his arms flying up and hitting Saguru in the arm. 

Saguru rubbed at the spot absently, “Hot chocolate then?”

Conan nodded.

“How about you find us a seat then?” Saguru asked as he pulled out his wallet, thankful that Lestrade had lined his wallet a bit to take the kid out, and for babysitting Conan for him since he didn’t know what had happened to Hattori and he had to take John back to Sherlock. 

Couldn’t have gotten ahold of Sherlock to see if Conan could go with John.

And the boy hadn’t eaten all day.

So they were out for sandwichs, and now instead of proper food. Conan had thrown a fit to order at a drinks shop.

“I presume you’re still getting the coffee?” The barista asked as she grabbed cups.

Saguru nodded, “Yes. I’ll actually add a shot of espresso to my drink if I could.”

She smiled, understanding the pain of having to deal with a child like the one with him, and she nodded before marking that down as well and then giving him the total for the two drinks.

He was very grateful for the pounds that Lestrade slipped him.

Conan sat in a booth in the back with his legs swinging, eagerly watching as Saguru headed to the spot while they waited.

“So you live in England?” Conan asked as soon as Saguru sat down, “Because I know I’ve seen you in England!”

“Parents are divorced,” He answered simply, “Means constantly moving between the two.”

Conan’s brows furrowed in confusion, “But then why are you so known by the police force around here? Is your mom an officer with them? Like your dad?”

Saguru raised an eyebrow at that, “You know who my father is?” He asked.

Conan nodded, “Yeah, you mentioned it at the Island - When you were talking to Hattori. I remember things.”

“I see,” Saguru managed slowly. There was a bristle under his skin. He really didn’t remember Conan being this annoying, “A couple of years ago - I worked on a high profile case with them. I’ve stayed involved since then. Like your cousin Shinichi use to do. Before he vanished. It’s been a year now hasn’t it?”

Conan swallowed, and he looked away. Saguru frowned, but then he ran his words back over in his head and panicked.

“Saguru!” A brista called out.

Conan jumped to pick up their order. Saguru let him. He watched the boy check the cups, and Conan took a drink from his. It was a long drink, and considering Saguru had just brought up a missing family member? He couldn’t blame the boy.

Conan pulled the drink back away from his mouth and then grabbed the other one and wandered back to the table. He slide the untouched drink over to Saguru.

“Yeah,” He whispered a moment before Saguru could get the drink to his lips, “It’s been about a year now.”

Saguru set his drink back down on the table, and he watched Conan take another drink. He let the silence sit for a moment as Conan had his sip.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked as Conan’s drink touched the table.

“What’s there to talk about?” He asked. Conan didn’t met his eyes. Hakuba watched a tear drip down Conan’s face. He said nothing as the boy madly pushed it off his face.

“Anything you want to,” Saguru answered softly. He pushed his drink away, and gave Conan all his attention, “Loosing someone is never easy.”

“Loosing?” Conan’s voice cracked, “What - He isn’t- he can’t be… ”

“I wasn’t trying to say that,” Saguru whispered. He felt too far from the boy but he was just a stranger. There was no reason for him to rightfully get closer to the boy to reassure him, “I just - I know from personal experience what it’s like to loose someone to their work.”

Conan looked up and he watched him. Conan wasn’t looking. He was watching, “What do you mean by that?”

Saguru’s lips twitched as he thought of the last time he’d properly felt like he’d spoken to his mother. After the case that had gone south.

He had over looked something, no one else had mentioned it, and the evidence had been consequintal. 

It had implied that his mother had been the killer.

It hadn’t seemed worth it, but then… He talked to her after the case, and she had smiled. She then apologized and said she’d be leaving soon anyways. She told him to just move on. It shouldn’t be a mistake that should drag him down. That she’d still fiscally support him. That he could just keep living the way he always had.

“ _ How?” He asked, “How am I supposed to just move past this? Everything you’ve ever taught me - was because you were training me to kill people?” _

_ “You would be rather good at that now, wouldn’t you?” _

_ “What else aren’t you telling me?” _

_ “I’m not actually your mother.” _

_ “I’ve known that for years.” _

_ “Have you now?” _

_ “I didn’t want to think about it - but yes. I can honestly say that that is the least surprising thing about the evening, Ms. Vineyard.” _

_ “I knew you use to wake up before me.” _

_ “Yeah. Stopped for a reason.” _

_ “Oh?” _

_ “I wonder why I’d stop watching you put on a new face every morning. You still just want me to - do what now exactly?” _

_ “Be you, Hakuba.” _

_ “Why are you doing this? Why did you do this?” _

_ “A secret makes a woman woman. But, don’t look at me like that, Saguru. Nothing is ever free.” _

_ “And what’s my payment?” _

_ “Perhaps I’ll need a detective with a strong sense of justice.” _

_ “If I had that you wouldn’t be leaving. Not without handcuffs.” _

_ “We both know that isn’t true, kid. I’m leaving without handcuffs because you know that I’m better then you.” _

_ “I was always afraid of you.” _

_ “Good kid then. That’s what that makes you.” _

_ “Do I say sayonara now then?” _

_ “Only if you think that will help you sleep at night.” _

“Saguru?” Conan asked. His voice was soft. Saguru smiled as his attention went back to the boy in front of him. The one with tear streaks on his face. He felt something hot on his own.

“My mother,” He whispered, “She wasn’t who I thought she was. She was working for someone. I still think she’ll come back, and she’ll tell me that I should work for them as well.”

“Would you?” Conan asked.

Saguru shook his head, “I would rather die,” He answered honestly, “Their dress code matches their actions - black as death.”

Conan jumped. His eyes wide, and he looked around the cafe wildly. He let go of his drink, and he grabbed Saguru’s hand. Saguru tried to grab his own.

“Don’t. That one’s the hot chocolate,” Conan growled.

Saguru let Conan pulled him out of the cafe without rebuke or questioning. He had seen the looking Conan’s eyes. 

They were like his mother’s. Piercing, and with a knowing far more then his own. Older then they ought to be on a face that young.

Conan’s white shirt was the only reassuring thing about the situation. There wasn’t a drop of black on him.

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock looked up as the door opened, and he smiled at Lestrade and John. John rolled his eyes, “Haven’t been kidnapped yet, Sherlock.” He said throwing his arms wide open before stumbling over to a stool beside him.

“You lot need me to stay for anything?” Lestrade asked.

Sherlock shook his head, “Thanks for bringing him.”

“I would say that I want answers later,” He answered sharply, “But I don’t. I just want the bomber off the streets - am I understood?”

“Clear as crystal!” John piped up. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the boy’s smile. John’s boyish smile turned to one caught in the act, and he rubbed the back of his head.

Sherlock didn’t watch Lestrade as he left. He just heard the door close. John stretched and he rubbed at the bridge of his nose, “Conan,” He grunted, “Shinichi is going to have a split personality problem if there ever really is a perment cure.”

Sherlock laughed at that, husky and barely there, but amused enough, “Not as much cover for him, I suppose. In whatever arrangements he has living in Japan.” 

“Yeah.” John closed his eyes, and he tried to lean back for a moment before setting his forehead down on the table in front of him, “I hadn’t even tried to imagine what being a proper child was really like. Don’t see many kids in warzones. Not in - ways that remind you of what kids are actulaly like.”

“We could enroll you in a school-”

“Shove off,” John groaned, “I’m not complaining.”

“Good,” Sherlock answered turning back to the shoes and the science in front of him, “Want to take a look-”

“I’m doctor damn it, Sherlock. Not a detective,” John grunted. Sherlock simply stared at John for a moment before the man looked up at him, “Of course that - It’s a pop culture reference. Just tell me, Sherlock.”

Sherlock frowned, but he rolled his eyes with ease, “I was right -”

There was a ruffle from the door and Molly walked in with a man trailing behind her. She held a cup of coffee in her hands. She smiled at the two of them, “Here’s that coffee you wanted, Sherlock.” She purred.

Sherlock hadn’t seen Molly, well for a moment in passing when he walked by the morgue, but he smiled as he accepted the drink with a nod.

She smiled. She blushed, and she motioned with a fluster to the man behind her, “This is my boyfriend, Jim. He’s from IT.”

Sherlock stared at him, and he opened his mouth before he could find anything to say. Looking at the man - Sherlock would have had to been blind to miss the way the man was looking at him.

Fan would have been putting it mildly.

_ Fan would hav been _ \- He cut off the train of thought, and he put down his drink. He held out his hand, “Pleasure to met you,” He answered with a deep frown, “How ever you two aren’t really dating are you?”

He heard a thump behind him, and he knew John didn’t approve. He also knew that John not using words meant he saw the same thing. 

John missed the obvious - like everyone else did - but he wasn’t oblivious.

Molly’s smile froze, “Of course we’re -”

Jim from IT laughed, “I get that a lot,” He mumbled as he shuffled past Sherlock. 

Sherlock had to stop himself from pulled John out of the man’s reach as he ruffled John’s hair. John batted the man’s hands away from him, like any boy his age would have done.

“But I want to have kids too much,” Jim added with a smile as he watched John. He looked at Sherlock, “Although I suppose there is adoption - but -”

“We are dating, Sherlock!” Molly let out, “We are.”

Sherlock stared at Molly, and the girl was in near tears. He frowned. His brows furrowed.

“He isn’t gay,” She whispered.

_ He always had to explain to her- _

_ ‘I’ll tell you his name. _ ’

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, and there was a clatter behind him. Sherlock turned to see Jim setting something metal back on the counter beside them.

“I think you should go before you break something,” Sherlock said with a stiff dry tone, “I would hate to have my test interrupted.”

Jim nodded, “Waiting for the experiment to compile, are we?” He asked with a nervous smile. He nodded, and he looked at Molly. Their eyes didn’t met because she was glaring at Sherlock.

He left her behind, and Molly’s eyes flickered past Sherlock to John. She smiled, “He’s not-”

“And neither are you,” Sherlock answered. She looked back him, and he saw her - Vermouth - in the corners of her body language, “Straight that is. You should try to find a good girlfriend-”

“Oh no,” She whispered, “That’s not what turns me on. I assure you.”

Sherlock’s smile was sharp, and John’s posture was matching as he realized he was missing something, “Why’d you bring him down here? To make me jealous?” He asked.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” She answered, “Sherlock Holmes? He’s above it all, isn’t he?”

“He is.” Sherlock answered.

She nodded, “And it seems like I’ve done enough for now then haven’t I?”

“I’m not drinking the coffee,” He answered. She froze and stared at him for a moment, “No creamer in it.”

“I wouldn’t drink it anyways. Jim insisted to put in sugar. Said you’d like it that way.”

“What do you think? Of sugar in your coffee that is?”

“I think - I think life is well enough handled without any assistence.” She answered before nodding and leaving. She glanced back with the girlish glimmer and blushing smile that would have been Molly, had it actually been Molly.

Sherlock pulled out his phone as the door closed behind her, “Vatican Cameos,” Sherlock whispered as he did such. John froze tighter, wound up even more for action, but he kept quiet taking the clue for what it was. He put the phone on the counter, and he grabbed John. 

He pulled the boy off of the stool and he ran his finger’s through John’s hair. He found something attached to strand, and he pulled it off. John nodded when he saw the bug, and he held out his hand, “I really need to go to the bathroom,” He groaned out.

“And I really don’t need you running around the lab,” Sherlock said in clear dismissal.

John nodded, and he left. To wash the bug down a drain. 

Sherlock pulled his phone to his ear, and he dialed Molly’s number. It rang through.

“Sherlock?” Molly answered with a question in her mouth, “What - Did you need more fingers? Because I am not -”

“No, no,” Sherlock quickly interrupted her, “Might be dropping by later today with John to over knee joints again. Just wanted to make sure you were there to let us in.”

“I can’t,” Molly moaned, “I mean I’m here. I’m at work. It’s my job to be here at my work to do my - I just can’t let you in so soon after the last time you were here. Not after what you did with the cadaver we were preparing for the students-”

“But what if John just wanted to pop by and say hi?” Sherlock asked. There was silence on the phone, and Sherlock felt a flutter in his chest, “Molly?”

He just wanted to know she was safe. He just wanted to know that they hadn’t hurt -

“I just- Why would he want to say hi?” Molly whispered. There was a slight sniffle, “I mean. If you can’t study down here?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Sherlock asked before he could parse what her words might mean.

“Sherlock. I know you just show me attention to get what you want, and I know John looks up to you. If you think - If you’re saying these things just to try and change my mind about letting you in today? This is cruel. Even for you Sherlock.”

“I’m not,” Sherlock answered, “Why would I? John adores you. If I tried to use that - or your fondness for the boy - then he’d never forgive me.”

The silence settled again, and Sherlock didn’t shatter it. A sniffle did, and Sherlock knew well enough to know that she was nodding, pulling herself together from the tears in the silence after that, “Well in that case-”

“And he’s far too independent. Especially for his age.”

“In that case, Sherlock-”

“He’d shot me if I did that.”

“Did not need to hear that with so much conviction-”

“It’s the truth. He’s a monster.”

“Or that.”

“Strong morals, though. Very strong. So not actually-”

“Sherlock!”

“Hm?”

“You’re rambling.”

“Oh.”

“You’re a good father, Sherlock. You know that right?”

“Oh - no -”

“You’re a good son then?”

“Probably more accurate.”

Molly laughed, soft and a wisp after her crying, “I’m working my usual shift. You know when I take my break. You know where I’ll be during my break. You and John can drop by anytime. But after last time - I’m not letting you never anything.”

“Understood.”

“Good.” And then she hung up.

Sherlock stared at his phone until he heard the door open. He jumped at that, and he saw John staring at him, “Is Molly?”

“She’s fine,” Sherlock answered, “I might have made her cry though.”

“Jesus Christ, Sherlock!” John hissed slamming the door shut behind him, “I can’t leave you alone for two seconds I swear!”

“Anyways, now that you’re back. About the shoes-”

“Nope.” John answered, “We’re going to go down and see Molly. And you’re going to apologize to her.”

“She cried because I said I wasn’t trying to use you to get something from her. That I couldn’t do that because you adore her and you’d never forgive me if I did something like that.”

“Oh.”

“So about the shoes now?”

“Yes. About the shoes.”

“First case I tried to get in front of police eyes, to solve. Carl Powers. Poison on the laces. Everything but his shoes was in his locker at the time. I tried to tell them the shoes had the answer.”

“So, it’s solved already then?” John asked.

Sherlock nodded.

“What do we do now?”

Sherlock turned back to John, “He’s tried bugging you. He’s connected with Vermouth and Molly may be in danger to get to you.”

“Or you. I noticed he left his number under the tray.”

Sherlock snapped to look, “Ah.”

“What are you thinking?”

“We ask if they brought extras. Hide you in plain sight.”

John rubbed his hands together and he nodded, “Sounds like a plan to me. If he doesn’t?”

“He does,” Sherlock answered, “He used one to get into the country. He’ll use another to get out of the country.”

“Which means he doesn’t have extras.”

“He can get more.”

John rolled his eyes, “Fine. We’ll ask and see how it goes.”

“I can get his hotel from Mycroft,” Sherlock shrugged.

“We ask first.” John insisted, “We’re asking first. Am I clear, Sherlock?”

“Yes, John,” Sherlock grunted, “Now. Back to the flat? See how they’re getting along with their case?”

John nodded, “Gonna push the clock then?”

“We need all the time we can get,” Sherlock muttered as he swept past John. John fell in easy step beside him before they stopped at the door, “All the clues and facts as well.”

“Well,” John nodded in agreement, “It sure would be nice to know what they know.”

Sherlock nodded, and they marched through the halls in silence, not knowing where or if Jim from IT had left any more of his spider web in his wake to try and snare them up with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -CUT SCENE-
> 
> *John staring at the mirror in the bathroom with the bug on his finger tip*
> 
> "Adults never know when to keep their hands to themself! Now I have to fix this!"
> 
> *Rustles hair into the bug. Drops it down the sink. Turns on water*
> 
> "Oh no. Such a bother," He whispers under his breath with a roll of his eyes.


	6. The Game Is On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long Chapter Ahead. Warning on that. Also slight implications of Johnlock with the implications of John and Sherlock being a couple despite the height difference - Lots of snowballing leads to that bit so if that's a trigger for ya. There's the warning. Just skip down to the next scene nothing else will be missed other confirmation that - No. John and Sherlock are not a couple. Irene would disagree. Being a shipper of platonic coupling - I too would disagree. What with these Baker St Boys being Ace!Sherlock and Straight!John. But the implications are not for that, and I'd rather flag that that is mentioned then not. Even if the character flustering up while bringing it up - isn't quite sure what he's saying either. Better safe then sorry imo. ^^b
> 
> On a new note - I have to share this amazing fan art with [Sherlock and the smoll bois looking boss from Chapter 3's scene with Sally](https://cascading-embers.tumblr.com/post/172066222487/fanart-for-hisfoolishdaughter-s-wonderful-series) by Cascading Embers on Tumblr!

* * *

 

 

Lestrade opened the door of his office to find Conan sitting on couch with Saguru beside him, “I thought the two of you were working the Kid case?”

Conan smiled at Lestrade, “Sherlock isn’t answering his phone. I need in 221b.”

“And you want me to get you two there?”

Conan nodded, “Saguru refuses to pay for a cab.”

“I don’t have the cash is hardly-” Saguru started. Conan waved a hand at him.

“So - Can you?”

Lestrade ran a hand down his face. Maybe one day he’d be able to work on a case. Any case. Actually do some work that would require an actual detective.

“Yeah,” He managed, “I can get the two of you there.”

“And inside-?” Conan leaned over the arm of the couch. Lestrade kept himself from reaching out to help the kid into a safer position.

This was Conan, and he was like John. He could take care of himself.

“Mrs. Hudson has a spare key, kid,” Lestrade told him, “So no. I’m not breaking you into the flat.”

Conan smiled, but Saguru raised an eyebrow. Lestrade stared at the stunned teen detective, “I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself wrapped up into.”

“Not in the least,” Saguru mumbled.

Lestrade motioned for them to follow after him, “Well, best get you to 221b then.”

“Thank you, Detective Lestrade!” Conan sung skipping after him.

Lestrade decided at that moment that he was in the same boat at Saguru.

 

* * *

 

Saguru was in the kitchen making tea when the door opened to 221b and he found himself staring at Kaito Kuroba. Sherlock cleared his throat from behind Kuroba. Heiji rounded the corner, from presumably a second door. He stared at Saguru until a second kid bumped into his legs.

“Hi,” Kaito said. He glanced at Hattori, “Why is he-”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and used the other door.

Conan popped up into sight as he rushed Kaito’s side, “Let him explain,” The child sung, “I already got some answers.”

“And those are?” Sherlock answered.

“I found confirmation that Vermouth is involved,” Conan said as he closed the door behind Kaito. There was another muffle of a door closing. Saguru started to relax, “With the serial bombings.”

Saguru twitched at that, “I don’t understand how I-”

“I have the same,” Sherlock answered, “In fact me and John met both this afternoon. That’s why we grabbed Hattori - he insisted that Kaito should come with?”

“He’s involved in the case,” Conan answered with a nod.

“Because he is Kid?” Saguru asked.

Kaito groaned, “No. I’m a fan- Why are you here?”

Saguru shrugged. Conan hadn’t said a thing since leaving the cafe. He didn’t see why-

“His mother it Vermouth!” Conan said with a smile.

“Vermouth?” Saguru repeated slowly, horror filling him.

Kaito froze, “What?”

Conan nodded, and then he climbed up on the table, sat on the ledge of it, and he perched like a cat, like he controlled the room. In that moment, he did. “You heard me.”

Kaito backed away from Saguru. His eyes askance.

“What has she done?” Saguru whispered. His words barely made it out of his mouth, “Who does she work for?”

“How is this a confirmation that Vermouth hired Moriarty?” Sherlock asked, pulling the whistling kettle off the stove. Saguru had forgotten about that.

“I thought he knew more about her,” Conan admitted, “I didn’t really want to ask more questions without everyone here in case I had to answer some in response.”

“What’s going on?” Saguru managed.

“Like that one,” Conan answered with a pointed finger at Saguru. Kaito swallowed and he nodded.

“That’s why you’ve been involved with Kid’s heists, isn’t it?”

“I noticed a sniper,” Saguru nodded, “If you’re Kid you need to stop. It isn’t safe-”

Kaito laughed. Rather, he howled with laughter. The room let him.

“Oh,” Kaito managed after a time, “That’s rich.”

“I know you’ve been shot! Multiple times, Kaito!”

“I didn’t confirm,” Kaito snapped, but then his frown turned into a smile, razor sharp, “But I will now. They already killed my dad. That’s why I’m doing this. Because people who will kill for a chance at immortality don’t deserve to have it.”

Sherlock held a cup of tea out to Saguru. He held it like it was his life line, “Vermouth - as you call her - isn’t my mother. She raised me, and she’s still supporting me, claiming to be my mother after killing my real mother off years ago to get to me. I know she’s a wonder with stage makeup and disguises - which isn’t surprising considering she’s Chris Vineyard - but what does this have to do with immortality?”

John snorted, “I’ve been thinking, Conan. Since this morning. The poison - I thought it was suppose to kill. But it wasn’t, was it?”

Conan nodded. He glanced at Saguru, “I know someone whose parents worked for the Black Organization, but she wasn’t held at as much of an arm’s length. Scientist - working to develop something. She still hasn’t told me what exactly, but I also haven’t told her what I know about Kid and Pandora. I’m working on the presumption that it was a synthetic path to the tears that Pandora is suppose to cry under a full moon.”

“Which is why Kid times his heists when he does,” Saguru breathed. He met Conan’s eyes. Older and mismatched now with his face and earlier actions. “Who are you?”

Conan glanced at Hattori. He nodded slightly. He glanced at Kaito, who did the same. Finally he glanced at John and Sherlock, who had taken to standing side by side with their cups of tea in hand. John glanced up at Sherlock, and Sherlock glanced down at John with a raised eyebrow. John rolled his eyes at that, and then they nodded in unison.

Conan stood up on the table, and he walked over to Saguru. Their eyes met, and Conan held out a hand. Like one would during an introduction-

“Kudo Shinichi,” He said.

Saguru stared at Conan, and he looked at the rest of the room. He stared at Kaitou Kid and the Detective of the West. He glanced at the world’s first and only Consulting Detective and his nephew, his assistant in training.

And, he swallowed before looking back at the kid standing in front of him, “I thought that-” He shook Shinichi’s hand, “I actually don’t know if I want to think right now.”

“Props not,” John quipped from the side. Hattori glared at the boy, and John shrugged, “Kid has a super spy assassin for a mother. I wouldn’t want to think about the implications of everything that we have going on. Would you?”

Hattori rolled his eyes, but then he stilled, “Shit.”

“Exactly,” John said with a nod, “Just imagine finding out you have bat shit crazy family who has been manipulating you for as long as you can remember. That they are then killers and maybe not the family that you thought you had,” John continued, “Then once you’ve come to terms with that - you find out the world is filled with thieves that steal for the greater good because - of your mother’s killing group - and that there are kids much older then they look because of again, your mother’s killing group.”

“You could have phrased that with more tact,” Kaito panned before nodding in Saguru’s direction.

John winced, and he looked at Saguru. Saguru didn’t know what was on his face, but the fact that John paled at the sight of it lead to an easy deduction of it not being pleasant, whatever it was, “I-”

“It’s fine,” Saguru choked out, “It’s all true after all.” Sherlock nodded to the cup of tea in Saguru’s hands, and he took a drink. He nodded, “Thanks.”

Sherlock nodded, “It’s a lot to take in.”

“I presume he’s older then he looks as well then?” Saguru said with a nod to John.

“Yes.” Sherlock answered, “This is Doctor John Watson.”

“At your service,” The boy added.

“Doctor?” Saguru choked before drinking more of his tea. He glanced at Conan, and he nodded.

Here he was. He was standing in a room with a doctor that came up to his waist, the Detective of the East who was also known as the Kid Killer, who was standing on equal footing with the very same man. The Detective of West standing amongst them.

And here he was. A detective raised by a criminal. He smiled, and he looked back up the crew around him, “So. What exactly is going on?”

John smiled, wide, “I like you.”

Sherlock smirked, “What did I tell you, _Conan_. About standing on tables?”

“Desks,” Shinichi laughed as he jumped down from the table, “You said not to stand on _desks._ ”

Hattori nodded to the tea as he walked by Sherlock, “Please tell me there’s more of that if we’re about to settle down to work then?”

Sherlock nodded, “Cups in the cabinet above.”

Hattori glanced down at Shinichi, “Tea?” Shinichi nodded.

“I’ll take a cup too,” Kaito said from the other side of the room.

“You can get it yourself,” Hattori answered with a smirk. Kaito rolled his eyes, but a dash of smoke later and he was standing beside Hattori holding the freshly poured cup that Hattori had been holding a moment earlier.

Kaito smirked, and another poof of smoke later and Kaito was back to the spot he’d been in earlier.

“One of these days,” Hattori stated, “I’m going to be able to figure that trick out.”

Kaito smirked, and he raised his glass in mock salute, “You do that.”

Saguru took a seat at the table, and slowly everyone else sat there as well. Kaito nodded to Sherlock and John, “So, I presume that Shinichi told you all about me then?”

Shinichi smirked. Sherlock did the same, “Not in the least,” He answered, “Just about Pandora and what Kid was doing. Had no idea you’d be with Hattori. Pleasant surprise to have you sitting here at the table with us.”

Kaito rolled his eyes, “Figures,” He mumbled, “I’m the only one that didn’t have to out themselves.”

“Neither did I,” John added, “Technically that is.”

“Technically?”

Sherlock smiled, “Do you have any more of those antidotes, Shinichi?”

“Why?” Shinichi asked softly.

“Because we know exactly what Moriarity’s game is,” Sherlock answered, “And we want to move some pieces around and out of play.”

Shinichi nodded, “I have one, and I can get more. Is there anything else?”

“If we leave the lot of you alone to handle the Kid heist can you make sure your Black Organization doesn’t show up to it?”

Shinichi glanced at Saguru and Kaito - both of whom nodded.

“Then,” Sherlock smiled, “I think the game is afoot from here.”

 

* * *

 

Lestrade had one good night of rest, and he thought that would be sign of good luck for the rest of the week. A moment after entering his office for the day, there was a knock, and it went straight to his stomach. “Come in.” He called out softly.

Mycroft entered, and there was a man trailing behind him. Shorter and blonde, with a stiff posture. Business, no smile but there was a glimmer to his eyes anyways. Lestrade didn’t know what to make of the man Mycroft had with him. Other then dangerous because there was no one in Mycroft’s life that was otherwise. Even his own son, with his luck, was a dangerous tike to be around. There was something about the eyes that seemed familiar though.

“Detective Lestrade, the man with me here is Doctor John Watson. How I know him is above your pay grade-”

“Duly noted.” Lestrade quickly confirmed.

“Just know that he’s to be debriefed on your work with Sherlock, on the current case. He’ll be joining the efforts.”

“Him working with Sherlock? Is there something I should know?”

Mycroft’s smile was tight, “Nothing unseemingly about Sherlock if that’s the concern,” He answered.

“Not what I was trying to -”

“No,” Mycroft continued without acknowledging Lestrade’s attempt, “John here is just - uh - on vacation as it were, but he doesn’t do well bored so he wanted to stay with brother dear. An it seems that the bomber has a remarkable sense of timing.”

“What about the little one? Enough space in that flat for three? Does Sherlock know?”

Mycroft’s smile somehow grew tighter, and that appearance was enough of a distraction to buy a moment for John to look away and keep Lestrade from seeing the high amount of amusement on his face, “I am allowed to spend time with my own son, Lestrade. He doesn’t necessarily spend every night at Sherlock’s, and yes he knows both about Doctor Watson and for my plans with John.”

Lestrade nodded mutely. Despite what Sherlock might think, he wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew when not to talk anyhow.

John held out a hand to Lestrade, “It is an absolute pleasure to meet you, Detective. I’ve heard all about your patience in having to handle Sherlock in the car ride over. I’m looking forward to your advice in handling the man.”

Lestrade smirked as he shook the man’s hand, “Honestly, I don’t know what sort of advice I’ll have to give you, Doctor-”

“John please,” He requested.

Lestrade nodded, “John,” He corrected, “It’s been so long since I’ve had to handle Sherlock without the little one there. I honestly don’t know the sort of man he’ll behave to be without him there to keep him on his toes.”

“Oh?” Mycroft spoke up with a raised eyebrow.

“Nephew makes him slow down,” Lestrade answered with a rub to the back of the head, “Well, I mean, as much as one has to slow down for for a Holmes, still a kid after all. Your little one really has an eye for calling the cause of death though, Mycroft. He’s been a real asset to working with Sherlock - and in his own right.”

“He keeps saying he wants to be a doctor when he grows up though Sherlock insists that he’ll be stuck as his assistant,” Mycroft moaned.

John smirked, “Who knows, maybe the kid will be both.”

Mycroft glanced at John with the same mute, dry tone his words had carried just moments earlier, “Perhaps,” Mycroft muttered, “But he’ll be a grown man then. He can clearly be left alone then to make his own way in the world.”

John simply smiled, “Never said he wouldn’t.”

Mycroft nodded, “Sherlock would be relieved, but really, I have other matters to attend to now. I trust that the two of you will be able to handle Sherlock on his own?”

John nodded before answering with words that Lestrade could feel dooming them, “Of course. How hard could it be?”

Mycroft simply smirked on his way out, “I’ll leave you to it. Just remember, Watson. You only have 48 hours.”

John nodded, “How could I forget?”

Lestrade raised an eyebrow as the door to his office closed behind Mycroft, “48 hours?”

“This is my holiday before the next assignment,” John grumbled before looking to the couch in the office with a motion to ask to sit in it. Lestrade nodded, “But,” The doctor grumbled as he sat, “I do believe that was above your paygrade.”

“You’ll find anything that has to do with the Holmes should be above such,” Lestrade answered lightly, “Now, I presume you’re up for more than a little excitement on your holiday. Sherlock’s currently working a case with a bomber - one who’s called him out to work on it specifically.”

“Sounds like it won’t make much of a typical vacation then,” John agreed, “Tell me everything you know-”

The second knock of the morning interrupted John, “Come in,” Lestrade answered it with a sigh.

Sally opened the door, and she held out a file for Lestrade, “Here’s the interviews of the victim that you wanted to go over,” She said before noticing John, “Who’s this?”

Lestrade barely kept from pinching the bridge of his nose and telling her it was none of her business, but there would’ve been enough eyes watching Mycroft come in with the man and the whole station loved to gossip about anything related to the Holmes.

Especially since he posted Herlock online for John. Humanized the detective is what that did. Not as much as seeing Sherlock with the little one, but together? It did a lot to renovate the station’s perception of their consultant.

“Dr. John Watson,” Lestrade said, “This is Sally Donovan. She’s also working this case.”

“Doctor?” Sally asked, “And you’re talking to him like he’s apart of this as well?”

Lestrade nodded, “He’s going to be helping Sherlock since little John is going to be spending some time with his actual father from what it sounds like.”

Sally snorted, and John raised an eyebrow at that. Lestrade, internally, groaned as John shifted his body language to include Sally, “Is there something I’m missing?” He asked.

Lestrade felt a tension in the air, but awareness of that couldn’t be seen on Sally’s face. A smile, simple and vicious, was what told Lestrade that she really hadn’t a sense of caution in her bones.

Explained the affair with a married coworker.

“Just that Sherlock’s a freak,” Sally answered, “And John be better aware from the Holmes.”

“They’re his family,” John’s voice cut through the room. It wasn’t sharp enough to cut through Sally’s obliviousness.

Or her vindictiveness. She not objective when it came to Sherlock, not after out her affairs. Consistently.

“That is what they say, isn’t it?” Sally answered with a nod before pulling away before meeting John’s eyes, “If you’re smart you’ll stay away from them.”

“Same to you, Sally,” John said with enough cheer that Sally didn’t seem to connect the words to their meanings before she let them be. He met Lestrade’s eyes with a glimmer, “Sounds like you’ll have to have a run down with some new information for Sherlock then?” Lestrade nodded. John nodded in return, “I’ll wait then.” He nodded towards the door, “It’s been a while since I’ve just been able to stand about getting fresh air. I hope you don’t mind if-”

Lestrade waved at the door, “Go, go,” He insisted, “I understand. Enjoy it while you can get it.”

John smiled as he stepped out, “Oh, I plan to,” He whispered, “I plan to.”

 

* * *

 

John was standing outside of the station when Hattori, Shinichi, Saguru and Kaito approached the station with an older officer and a young woman also in their entourage. He nodded at them as they walked by. Saguru returned it, and he slide off from the group to stand beside him for a moment, “Next puzzle yet?”

“Not that I know of,” John whispered his answer.

Saguru nodded.

“Your mother?” John asked.

“Nothing new there either.”

John nodded, and then Saguru slipped away and back inside.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock was fidgeting in his cab ride to the station.

His curiosity over how a full size John would behave had nothing to do with it. It was just the thrill of the chase, of having a case…

No concern either on if he was taking a misstep.

As the cab slowed in front of the station, Sherlock turned away from the station, and John, to pay the cabbie.

Then, Sherlock found himself staring at the door. The door slowly swung open to reveal one Dr. John Watson staring at him, “Getting out?” John asked.

Sherlock simply stared. It was kid he had lived with, but twenty years older. Or more. He never had caught John’s actual age.

John rolled his eyes and stepped out of the way, “Oh,” John whispered as Sherlock swept out of the cab and closed the door behind him, “Just be glad you weren’t there when I took the antidote.”

“As bad as we thought?” Sherlock asked with a raised eyebrow.

John snorted, “You thought. I knew. But yes,” John nodded once and Sherlock watched him. He tried to see him now with the tan lines that he had had the first time they’d met. He tried to see him as he would have been then, if he had been able to flatshare as planned.

“Undoubtedly,” He continued, “Felt like dying all over again.”

“Sorry to put you through it again,” Sherlock said with a tone so dry that anyone listening in wouldn’t have believed that John’s claim that Sherlock could empathize had any weight.

John however knew that Sherlock simply refused to behave like a normal person under and circumstances and smiled as the taller man lead the way inside. “Anything new happen while we were busy setting up my alibi?”

“Not yet,” Sherlock answered as he held open the door for John, “I had some time to read Herlock, by the way,” He stated as he took the pink phone out of his pocket and started to spin it in his hands as they walked.

“Oh?” John raised an eyebrow, “And what did you think?”

“Having now met in you in flesh,” Sherlock answered, “I can see the allure of what if’s. But I wouldn’t be that -”

John raised an eyebrow, “Do you remember when you stopped ditching me at crime scenes?” He asked, “It was when Lestrade threatened to have social services brought in.

Sherlock cleared his throat before pushing the phone back into his pocket and strumming his fingers across it, “Anything new from your end?””

John shook his head, “Nope, but - How does Angelo’s sound for dinner tonight?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at that, “You know I don’t eat while I’m on a case, John.”

“Agreed, but for once we don’t have to whisper the details of our working together,” John answered, “And I would very much like to take every chance I can get to eat off the adult menu’s without drawing attention to myself or you. Also - Angelo’s. He’s always treating me like I’m your son. He can’t do that now!”

“Oh. But you can also do that on your own,” Sherlock answered with a frown.

“Why would I do that alone?” John asked, “I only have two days as an adult. Maybe I want to spend that time with friends?”

Sherlock froze, “Oh.”

“Oh?”

Sherlock turned to John and repeated it more emphatically, “Oh, John. Oh is what I said.”

“And I still don’t know why.”

“John.” Sherlock glared, “Do you need to repeat the last line of what you said? Or do I need to spell it out that I don’t have friends?”

John took a deep breath in and let it out, “Fine. You can think of it as a family dinner then?”

“I - I would still like to think that I can manage with the singular of friends,” Sherlock answered, “I mean. If you still…”

“If I still what, Sherlock?”

“If you still think that.”

“Oh.”

“John?”

“Of course. Of course I still think that.”

“Oh. Oh, good.”

“Unless you want me to?”

“No- No. It’s fine.”

“You really are rubbish at this, aren’t you?”

“You have met my family and coworkers.”

“It does explain a lot,” John conceded. Then they caught themselves glancing at the other, and small smiles turned into roaring laughter.

 

* * *

 

“Got the notes from the interview of our victim for you, Sherlock,” Lestrade said as the pair entered his office, “She lives in Cornwall. Two men broke in wearing masks, forced her to drive to the car park and decked her out in enough explosives to take down a house. Told her to phone you. She had to read out from this pager.”

Sherlock nodded, “And if she deviated…” He glanced at John.

“Boom,” John finished for him. Sherlock nodded.

“Clearly.”

“Or if you hadn’t solved the case,” Lestrade added as he glanced between the two. There was something- “So,do we have the movtive for this sorted out yet?”

Sherlock shrugged, and John raised an eyebrow at that, “Bored?”

“You’re telling me he’s bored?”

“I can’t be the only one that does,” Sherlock answered with his feet and his gaze wandering so he could stare outside the office. A soft beep emitted from Sherlock’s pocket before John could so much as raise another eyebrow at Sherlock’s statement, and once Sherlock turned back and opened the message. Four pips answered before a revelation of a photo, a car abandoned with a license plate in plain view.

“Abandoned?” Lestrade offered as Sherlock extended it over to him. He nodded. A quick rap from the door, and the three occupants turned to Sally. She held out a phone, “It’s for you freak.”

Sherlock nodded and he stepped out of the office with the mobile, “Don’t worry, going to the police won’t get anyone into trouble,” A quivering male voice answered, “A bit disappointed by Mycroft’s timing though, but I suppose I can’t hold it against him. John is such a cute child after all.”

“What do you want?”

“What do I want, Sherlock? The real question here is what do you want?”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will,” The man answered as the rush of cars built up and nearly drowned out the voice.

“What’s that sound?”

“Life. Don’t worry. I can fix that. Whenever I want, Sherlock. You solved the last one in the full twelve hours. Now, you have seve-”

“And then you call me tomorrow?”

“Do you want me to play with you again today?”

“Once the case is solved. I get bored. That’s why we’re playing these games aren’t we - so we don’t get bored?”

“Oh, Sherlock. Do you really think that working straight through the night will assist anyone? Do you really think that is what this is about?”

Sherlock frowned.

“It’s adorable how you think I’ll let Mycroft use Dr. Watson as a cover for keeping the little Holmes out of the game. If he isn’t back for the fourth pip - well, since you don’t like being bored? I think, a surprise might be the perfect cure to that.”

With that, the line was cut, and Sherlock turned to stare at John through the window. He was already standing beside him, “I heard,” He whispered, “Sick bastard. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to play with.”

“Agreed.” Sherlock nodded. Then, he smirked a little, “He still doesn’t know that we know.”

Lestrade held up a piece of paper as he stumbled out of his office, “Found the car, Sherlock!”

“The game’s afoot, Dr. Watson. Are you ready to play with a mad man?”

“Of course,” John answered as he strolled after Sherlock, “Just to be clear though - are we talking about you or the bomber?”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” Sherlock answered.

“Not as long we’re not playing Cluedo anyways,” John smirked, “If it changes to that - then I’ll take the bomber.”

“The victim clearly-”

“The victim is the only that couldn’t have-”

“You two did just met today, didn’t you?” Lestrade asked as the elevator doors shut the three of them in, “Because I’ve only heard you banter like that with John - you know, the little Holmes. That John,” He clarified for Dr. Watson before glancing at him, the pale faced man. Paler then before - “Above my paygrade?”

“Something like that,” Sherlock answered with a smirk, “It’s amazing Dr. Watson keeps the work that he does with the poker face that he has, isn’t it?”

John rolled his eyes, “We wouldn’t have this case if I had. I know you’re secretly enjoying it.”

“Not a secret then is it?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Then no need to wear it out on my sleeve I suppose.”

“Just surprised that you’re not is all.”

“Lives are on the line, John.”

“I believe I once heard you say that that doesn’t matter - dead dying or about to - doesn’t matter. Just focus on the facts of the case.”

“I think you read that in a Doyle novel, but it’s fair because it’s true. Are you worried?”

“No,” John admitted, “Not at all. I know how you Holmes boys talk after all. Spent plenty of time with Mycroft after all.”

Sherlock nodded then he whispered, “Maybe family rubs off on family?”

John smirked. It was a smile thing, and Lestrade felt that he shouldn’t have been the one looking at it, “Fair enough,” He answered as the lift pinged and the doors opened. Lestrade glanced back at them, and his eyes lingered on John’s.

John’s very familiar eyes, the glimmer that spoke of trouble under the gaze of normalcy that Sherlock could never manage. And the banter.

“Impossible,” He breathed before pointedly turning back and taking lead for them to his squad car.

It was impossible.

Yet - If you eliminate the impossible, no matter how impropale-

 _No._ Lestrade cut off his own thoughts at that.

The moment John and Sherlock slipped into the back of the car and Lestrade buckled in the front. He found himself staring at them still through the rearview mirror.

John glanced at Sherlock who nodded. Lestrade pulled his eyes away and started the car. John cleared his throat.

“Actually,” John continued, “It’s not impossible, Lestrade.”

“ _But it is above my paygrade-_ ”

“No,” John answered, “After all, friends trust friends with their secrets now don’t they?” He adjusted for a moment so he could pull his wallet out of his back pocket, and he pulled out the old ID he’d never managed to give up. He offered it up to the man staring right back at him. Greg took it with a dumbfounded expression on his face. It was a military ID. Captain John H. Watson, M.D. “It’s pleasure to properly met you, Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade,” He said with a salute.

“Just - Just Greg please, John. Heaven knows I should have said that far sooner then now.”

Sherlock smirked, “Less concerned about how John will turn out now, Detective?”

“More worried, I should say, people don’t just lose and gain thirty or so years over night!” He hissed finally turned around to look at ‘em directly in the eyes.

“Less then an hour actually,” John answered, “Less then half an hour to be honest, and it’s about as pleasant as it sounds. Now, I only have two days or so to stand at eye height for the two of you.”

“Why? Why now? Why are you telling me this now?” Greg asked slowly, “Mycroft isn’t going to kidnap me for knowing about this, is he? Because there is no way _this_ is -”

“We didn’t need you coming up with your own wild conclusions,” Sherlock answered, “And it’s much simpler if you simply know. Your staring was less then discrete, and this is a discrete matter. I presume you understand the need for secrecy in this matter?”

Greg nodded, “Never do anything half way do you - either of you.”

John smirked, “Have to keep Sherlock from being bored now, don’t we?”

Lestrade glanced up in the rear view mirror and sighed, “You might as well be a Holmes. I don’t know how you’re holding up considering…”

“Would you call his actions holding up?” Sherlock asked.

Lestrade nodded, “Considering what ever happened to him and then you happening to him afterwards? Yeah, I think he’s rather sane and doing quite well all things considering.”

“Appreciated,” John commented drily, “From both of you.”

“And that Conan boy-”

“Oh absolutely what you thought,” Sherlock answered, “Child spy reared by the Japanese government. I do believe Mycroft might have actually have a boy in the actual program England has.”

“You’re just pulling my leg aren’t you?”

“Would you believe me either way, Lestrade?”

“You’re a royal arse you know that right, Sherlock?”

“You and your staff constantly service those reminders I assure you.”

“If I wasn’t so close to retirement, Sherlock. I swear, you Holmes lot would drive me to quitting.”

“Please, tell me you’re including John in that statement. Because if it’s only talking myself and Mycroft - I must wonder about the security of Scotland Yard.”

“I was actually,” Greg mumbled, “Heaven knows he’s always had me fooled on that front. Still does, and I’ve seen his proper ID now.”

Sherlock glanced at John and saw a peaceful smirk as he gazed out the window, finally able to see the street without the aid of assistance in the car. Only Lestrade noticed that same peaceful look on Sherlock’s face when he glanced up to see why Sherlock was being so quiet. After all, Sherlock Holmes would outlast God trying to have the last word.

And here he was, giving it up as he sat back there, “Did you two know each other?”

“Hm?” John asked as he pulled his eyes back up front.

“Because you know - moving in with him as cover or whatever?”

“Oh no,” John answered, “I was actually one of the serial suicide victims. Me and Sherlock had met the day before you and I, Lestrade, for maybe two minutes. Looking for flatmate - and apparently that was enough for Sherlock to be going off of.”

Sherlock glanced away. The signs of a defeat on an oft discussed subject.

“Although, Mrs. Hudson told me - little me that is- that he hadn’t actually needed one so she wasn’t too bothered for Sherlock when I hadn’t shown up for it. Was better this way, she said. Him being forced to be a parent.”

Lestrade snorted, “We’ve all been stating that,” He commented, “Must have been so odd-” He paled as he thought back to the time he’d had Watson on his couch, and his reprimand to Sherlock, “It - I-”

Sherlock caught his train of thought, as he smiled with understanding - 

Had Lestrade thought he’d ever see such a considerate look on Sherlock’s face before John Holmes had come onto the scene, it would have been with the utmost suspicion.

“I needed to hear it,” Sherlock said, “What you told me back then while we were working on the triad case.”

“You mean, every time he’s ever given you a bit of wisdom,” John amended.

“Like an old married couple you are.” Lestrade mumbled. Then his ear tips grew a little red, “You’re not… ”

“Not what?” John asked slowly.

Lestrade refused to answer.

Sherlock watched confused as John grew red - red, not pink, nothing romantic - in the face, “Pullover.” John growled.

“We’re almost there!” Sherlock motioned to the road.

“We’re not dating, Lestrade,” John growled.

Sherlock froze. John’s words, the clarification of the overtures to their conversation, hit him like a cold bucket of water.

“I’m not saying-”

“You are,” John interrupted.

“I’m not. I’d have to arrest-”

“Why’d you have to take it that far!”

“I thought you already-”

“What is going on, John? Lestrade?”

“I am not gay.”

“I’m sorry for thinking you two were a couple!”

The rest of the ride was in silence as they then silently pulled up to the scene surrounded by police tape and officers wandering around working the scene for their own clues and filing away anything that might be usable for the case.

Lestrade turned around to John and Sherlock. They stared back. John was clearly mad, and Sherlock just had a hue off of his already pale complexion. He looked drained if nothing else.

“John,” He met the doctor’s eyes, “I didn’t mean any offence.”

“Good.”

“You two are just very, very close.”

“Mycroft said he’d have expected to hear about a proposal,” Sherlock smirked. He glanced at John, and John, still mad glanced back.

Then they both laughed, and Lestrade felt himself breathing again.

“So then?” Lestrade said once the laughter started to dying down.

John nodded, “Apology accepted, Greg.”

“Greg?”

“He literally introduced himself not even ten minutes ago, Sherlock.”

“Oh.”

“Arse,” Lestrade grumbled, “But we have a case. So - get out of my car anyways, Sherlock.”

They stepped out, and John’s gaze planted on something across the street. Lestrade followed his gaze.

“You’re a grown man, John,” Sherlock said with a smirk, “You don’t need to worry about what a cup of coffee is going to do to you. Or if you can get someone to go with you.”

John glanced at Sherlock, and it hurt Lestrade’s heart to see the man’s smile.

He tried imagining himself in John’s shoes - and then he’d recalled that moment months ago when he’d told Sherlock to do the same, without admittedly understanding just what that meant. But it explained a lot about how Sherlock had changed over the last year.

Especially, if it had been filled with moments like this.

Lestrade’s eyes widened with a second realization as he watched John run across the street. He turned to look at Sherlock, “Nate,” He hissed with a pointed finger in John’s direction.

Sherlock’s smile was answer enough.

“The Triad case-!”

“Going to reopen it?” Sherlock asked, “Right now? When there’s finally something interesting to do? Come on Lestrade.”

Lestrade closed his mouth, and he simply followed Sherlock onto his own crime scene.

 

* * *

 

Saguru sat at the war table, as Inspector Nakamori insisted it be called, with aforementioned Inspector, a couple of locals assigned to the case, and Hattori. He couldn’t see any openings that could be exploited for a night time heist, and by the defeated look on Hattori’s face he felt the same.

Even with all the way he could hear Vermouth whispering in his ear to think about it from a different angle then.

He glanced over his shoulder, and he saw Kaito chatting comfortably with Aoko. It looked like it was comfortably anyways. After watching the man’s sharp with last night as they ran through scenarios and facts about the cases - making sure everyone knew everything about what was going on - he wasn’t sure. He hadn’t seen the same classmate he’d studied with anyways.

“Hey, Kuroba,” Saguru called out after a moment, “You’re a fan of Kid’s right?”

Kaito stared at Saguru. Confused, not because of a sense of ‘why are you trying to throw me under a bus now?’ but confused in a ‘What?’ sort of way. He had mentioned that his father had taught him to act, to keep a poker face no matter what.

Better then the things that Vermouth had taught him about concealed weaponry.

“Yes?” Kaito answered.

“Think you can think like Kid after all the heists you’ve attended?”

Kaito smirked, “You gonna use on that long list of proof that you say you have?”

“This would be just as circumstantial as the ice skating I have on there,” Saguru answered, “So. No.”

Kaito jumped up and rubbed his hands together, “Okay then. Because you’re all being idiots right now.”

“Hm?” Hattori groaned as he looked up finally from the blue prints.

“Kid wouldn’t try to steal the gem at night, not with this security.”

Aoko twitched, and she shuffled about as she watched Kaito join the table, leaving her behind. Saguru watched a maddening glimmer fill Kaito’s eyes, and he almost started to worry as well.

Because he knew exactly what Aoko feared that she was seeing. That he was actually the Kaitou Kid.

“And if he’s not going to do it when he announced it?” Inspector Nakamori asked with folded arms, “Then when?”

“He’s switched beforehand before,” Kaito admitted, “He’ll do that this time. He’ll switch the real thing with a prop during the day when it would be easy enough to look the security feeds and to get in.”

“It will be easy to notice someone tampering with the case though,” Hattori grumbled.

Kaito reached over and pulled a card out from behind Hattori’s ear, “Not if Kid is doing it.”

Saguru froze for a moment. He hadn’t thought about Vermouth’s visit yesterday last night. He hadn’t thought about the fact that Chris - Sharon - Whatever her bloody name was apparently - Vineyard was in London.

And the Black Organization was still interested in fact interested in getting Pandora.

He hadn’t mentioned her being in town, and active as Vermouth. He checked his phone. No new messages, but he still started to get up, “Apologizes,” He told the room, “Message from my mother about dinner tonight.”

“Oh?” Hattori raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing to worry about,” He clarified, “I just have to send out a message really quick.”

“Oh.” Hattori nodded before turning back to Kaito, “So, about-”

Saguru glanced at Aoko as she pulled her legs up to her chest and watched as her boyfriend worked with the officers, seemingly, so that they’d be better able to catch him. If she was right about her suspicions about him.

His own gaze turned back to Kaito as he left the room. If he could undo one decision, on one case, he would, and it would be letting Vermouth slip away because he’d been emotionally blinded during the case. No. It would be telling Aoko, and not trying to speak to Kaito about the danger he was in in private.

It would be messier for him now, and his friends deserved better then what he’d given them.

He sighed as he unlocked his phone. As much as he wanted to change things. There would be no way to undo the doubt in Kaito that he’d planted, not without furthering the harm.

No. For now he could just undo the accidental omission. He could help fill Sherlock’s hand by telling him about a car he’d forgotten was already playing on their board.

Whatever Moriarty’s games included, Vermouth was also dancing on the board. She was right. She always was when she gave him advice.

He shouldn’t have let his mind wander away from her.

 

* * *

 

John held a cup of coffee in his hands and he stared at Sally, “I’ve said I’m with Sherlock.”

She shook her head, “Sorry, but no one’s ever with Sherlock Holmes.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Does his nephew not count? Because I’m pretty sure I could call John his son and be legally correct.”

Sally winced,not in pain but in the way that said she’d fight John on this.

John didn’t want to fight Sally. He did, but not over this. “Then will you care to explain to Lestrade why you’re keeping me here when he comes over here to see just what you’re doing? When I’m suppose to be over there by their sides investigating?”

“You should stay away from Sherlock Holmes, if you know what’s good for you, Mr… ?”

“John Watson,” He said tightly, “Doctor John Watson in fact. We met earlier this morning.”

“If you are a doctor then you should be smart enough to piece together why that is on your own then.”

“Not when I’m not following your logic - Finally,” John grumbled as he saw Sherlock and Lestrade finally pull their heads out of the car. He waved like a madman at them, “Greg!” He shouted, “Would you please tell Donovan to let me in already?”

Lestrade nodded and motioned for John to come over, and John stopped giving a care about arguing with Sally and helped himself past her and the police tape - despite her attempts to hold the crime scene tape down.

John marched over to Lestrade’s side, “What have I missed?” He asked taking a sip from his coffee.

Lestrade raised an eyebrow and the tip of his lips smiled, “Was the coffee worth the hassle of admission?” He asked.

“Absolutely,” John grunted, “Have you given a cup to a child before? Too much caffeine for their bodies to understand. I swear though, Sally thinks I’m dating Sherlock as well - I might just very snog the man to shut everyone here up.”

“Where’s the wife, Lestrade?” Sherlock asked looking up from the car.

John and Lestrade stared at him for a moment before pointing over in the direction of the woman that was crying. Sherlock glanced at them, and decided not to comment on their gaze before heading over to interview her.

“He’s a better man now at least,” Lestrade said in weak admission, in weaker defense of the man.

“Yeah,” John agreed in weak, unwilling agreement, “Still not relationship material.”

Lestrade smirked at John, it was weak in easy admission of their earlier conversation and acknowledgement of how it might be a touchy subject.

John enjoyed a good joke however. So, he frowned, but his eyes were laughed, “Still not gay.” He told Lestrade.

“But you said you might just snog, Sherlock-”

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a good snog?” John asked with an eyebrow raised and barely contained laughter, “And frustration leads to stupid decisions.”

“Indeed, John,” Sherlock commented returning to their side. John glanced over to see the woman - who had been crying - was no murderously glaring at them. “I had to interview the wife by myself. It was very enlightening-”

“She looks like she’s about to cover over here to murder _us?”_ John hissed, “Just what did you say to her?”

“Don’t worry, John. You weren’t there to listen. No one will blame you for failing to keep me in line.”

“Sherlock,” John hissed, “That is not what I meant-”

Sally stepped into their line of sight, beside Lestrade,  when she opened her mouth, “The doctor said he was with you, Sherlock? Is he your date or something? Is this the sort of thing that you sort would get off on?” She asked.

“Sally!” Lestrade snipped, “What have I said-”

“Doesn’t have the kid with him,” Sally interrupted, “And it’s not safe to have him here.”

“Oh god-” John hissed before handing Lestrade his cup of coffee and turning to face the sergeant fully.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “John, stop entertaining the idiot. The best way to treat bullies is to ignore them-”

“No,” John answered, “That lets them foster their problems. Your problem with Sherlock is that you think he gets off on this right?” He asked.

Sally frowned, “It’s not like he gets paid to be here or nothing. It’s just to show off. And one day that’s not going to be enough for him.”

“Ah ha,” John wagged a finger there, “That’s the problem. He doesn’t do it to show off. He’s just a drama queen for attention. He does that everywhere, doing _anything_. You just-”

“Follow him around a lot then do you?”

John’s hand tightened into a fist, “His brother? I work in his office. Mycroft thought spending my vacation time assisting Sherlock would be relaxing-”

Sally interrupted with a scoffed.

John held up a finger, “I was speaking, Sally. Open your eyes. Have you thought about what Sherlock sees and talks about? It’s utter genius - because he sees the details of a life after only five seconds with it. And - What does he do with that skill? Consult with your superior officer to aid in the time it takes to close cases. And you think - what? Just because someone is bored that makes them suddenly willing to hurt people? When it’s been on clear display that he’s simply not interested in that?

“So yes. This is my vacation, because it is relaxing to watch genius in action and know that it’s being put to good use.”

“I’ve seen what he keeps in his kitchen-”

“Decomposition is a key field of research for forensics - and did I not already state that the man’s a drama queen? Of course he’s not going to spend time studying forensic accounting. He’s a graduate chemist for pete’s sake.

“Now though, isn’t there something else you should be doing? Or is Sherlock Bleedin’ Holmes the only one that ever does the investigative work for your division?”

Lestrade raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t defend Sally or watch her scamper off. Sherlock stared at John with a hint of an emotion that sung towards confusion. “Been keeping that in for a while have you?” Lestrade asked.

“Yes,” John answered tightly, “Yes, I have.”

“She still thinks we’re dating,” Sherlock answered softly.

John looked at Sherlock and raised an eyebrow, “Oh so you were listening earlier, were you? Well, You’re not interested in that sort of thing.”

Sherlock smirked, “Married to the Work,” He answered.

John nodded, “And I’m not gay. So. Glad we got that cleared up. _Again._ ”

“So where are the two of you going now then?” Lestrade asked, “If not to snog that is?”

John’s voice made a little dying sound that matched what his soul was doing on the inside as Sherlock talked, “Taking John away from here, clearly it’s not good for his health. That interview also provided me with a lead so we’re going to go investigate that while your people run the blood work for the amount in the car. Simply need to confirm that it’s the amount that I think it is.”

Lestrade nodded, “Right then. Call you once that comes in, I suppose?”

Sherlock frowned, “No. I don’t want the call interrupting anything. I’ll call you instead.”

Greg shrugged, “Works for me. Now then, off you go. I believe you’re the only one that does the investigative work around here after all.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“I know, John,” Greg answered with a smirk, “I’ll give my people a talking to. They need to start acting professionally and focusing on the tasks I assign them. Just make sure Sherlock doesn’t go about emotionally chewing on them and I might make sure they stop insinuating that Sherlock’s found himself a date.”

John gave Sherlock a rather pointed glare, and to that Sherlock simply rolled his eyes, “Dull.”

“Of course.” John grumbled. He glanced at his watch, and took back his coffee from the Detective, “Just glad I didn’t end up punching her. Illegal that is and all.”

“The crew has bets on when Nate’s going to end up doing that to Dawn if she reappears in the next part,” Lestrade commented casually, “I don’t think they’ve realized that Donovan had her own cameo role in the series.”

“What’s your bet on?”

“Cheating that. How would I know that you’re not trying to make me lose the pot?”

John rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Come on, Sherlock. What was it you said earlier? The game is on or something?”

“Afoot.” Sherlock answered stoutly.

“Yeah,” John looked back up, “That. Course you said it like that.”

 

* * *

 

“Do I have to explain to you what I saw while interviewing Mr. Ewbert?” Sherlock asked as they paced away from the man’s office.

“Well, considering I know you’re using patches and not actually smoking at the moment - I’m going to guess something about the wallet. Money from abroad then?”

Sherlock nodded, “Anything else?”

“Does their name have to do with them?” John asked, “I mean, if they have something to do with his disappearance… You mentioned in the ride over that the wife isn’t the murderer, but that she was already talking like it was confirmed - even without the body. So, I don’t know? Is that all connected?”

Sherlock stopped, turned to John with a smile, “Can you explain the blood though? The amount of blood on the front seat?”

John raised an eyebrow, “So you think the name’s a hint then? I was onto something? Really?”

“I’d be more surprised if you weren’t,” Sherlock answered before dropping his voice to a whisper, “I have been tutoring you for the last year.”

John stared for a moment at Sherlock, “Can you explain the blood then?” He asked simply.

Sherlock nodded, “Just need to do a quick test at the lab to confirm it. On top of the measurement of it that it. But I can call Lestrade about that on the ride over to confirm that the amount in question is going to be irregularly regular."

"You mean like - premeasured?"

"Exactly."

 

* * *

 

The pink phone rang as Sherlock dropped the solution on the blood sample. John was out of the room, enjoying his ability to purchase his own food without being stopped in the halls by adults asking him where his parents were. Sherlock picked up the phone, “The clue is-”

“The name,” Sherlock interrupted, “Yes. I know. Or rather that little Holmes boy is still assisting me,” He glanced down at the blood sample, a clear positive result, “Now. I already know you’ve helped settle Mr. Munkford in Colombia so they can commit life insurance fraud. Should I have the police arrest them first or can you tell me where your hostage is now and save both of us some time?”

“He says you can come and get me,” The man whispered, “Please. Please help me.”

“I will,” Sherlock answered, “I work with Scotland Yard. Just tell me you’re at.”


	7. Finding a Truth and Seeking a Home Amongst Friends

* * *

 

 

The last three years of Hakuba’s accusations rang in her ear, and  slowly Aoko decided to walk over to him, to someone that she wasn’t sure if she had ever actually known.

Kaito was standing off to the side after having already stolen the show away from the detectives. He had leaned over the blueprints, and his words had been English words spoken quickly and confidently for the sake of the local officers they were working with. It was fluent without an accent. She thought of Hakuba who had grown up in England, and she watched Hattori speak in the same American twinged English. No one gave Kaito’s English a second glance. It must have sounded good. 

She wouldn’t know. She had thought they’d both been struggling through that class together. Just another lie he’d given to her apparently.

It didn’t stop there as she watched him rattle to them in a language she didn’t know herself. Every eye was planted on him, and the occasional question was quickly answered. Even with the occasional moment of thought as he gave it the question thought.

She’d never seen him so focused. She hadn’t known that he could think. That didn’t mean she thought he was stupid, or slow, just thought he was a series of knee jerk reactions and strokes of genius because he didn’t overthink things.

The man that had stood over the table wasn’t the one she had fallen in love with. Not the idiot she had developed a crush on in middle school. Not the one that she’d claimed so recently as her own. 

The man standing beside the table with arms crossed and a focused expression was her Bakaito either.

As she watched, she’d realized Hakuba’s claims were true even if no one could prove it.

That hurt even more then the lying and tricks she saw in hindsight that he’d used to keep it that way. It was that she’d missed it. That she had seen that stunned moment of horror on his face when she’d told Akako to back away from her boyfriend, and that she misread it, even though Hakuba had already told her.

She had thought that maybe she’d been able to keep him away from this. That maybe he’d become so entangled in her that all of her doubts in him would fade away, and that Kid would be proven to be someone else.

What hurt was the fact that Kaito didn’t lie as Kid. He had only ever lied to her about who he was.

That was when she decided to walk over to him as the detectives figured out something without him. The conversation was still in a mad dash of English that she had no hopes in understanding. Kaitou watched, but he kept only a focus gaze on the proceedings.

She fell in place beside him, and she put a hand on his elbow. He froze at the touch. He stiffened so much that she didn’t feel it. She saw it.

He didn’t look at her, but he put a hand on hers and he slowly slide her hand away from him, “I’ll leave,” He told her simply in Japanese.

That wasn’t want she wanted. She wanted Kaito to stay, but she watched him leave. Because she knew there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that she’d ever see him again. She had never seen him in the first place.

Sher turned her attention to the table, and she nearly screamed at the two that should have been watching her with pain in their pain. Not Kaitou. He wasn’t the wronged one.

He wasn’t.

She was.

And Hattori and Hakuba were nervously watching Kaitou Kid as he left the room. Hattori said something quickly to Hakuba, and he followed after Kid.

Hakuba finally turned to look at her as the horror filled his eyes as the pieces clicked in his gaze.

She finally felt the heat running down in streams on her face. She sneered at him, and she cursed the fact that there was only one exit.

She took it anyways. She wasn’t going to let her father watch her break down. Not when she didn’t dare explain what had just happened.

Maybe he’d have figured it out if he spent more time with Kaito away from her. Maybe if she hadn’t taken to keeping up their middle school hysterics at home he wouldn’t be presuming that it was her influence and not his that caused his act.

It was him. It was Kaito who started the school day by flipping her skirt. It was Kaito who used fighting words that made her fight with him during class. It was always Kaito who started the actions that covered for this sort of seriousness that he apparently treated life with.

She pushed him to the side as the sobs pushed their way out of her chest, and she turned to look at him. 

She saw the matching streams pouring silently from his face, and she said the only thing could at the sight of those horror pained eyes she’d seen only on his face once before.

“I never want to see you again. I’ve never seen you to begin with after all, have I?”

He didn’t flinch, but he nodded, “As you wish.” He told her, and with a puff of smoke, Kaitou was gone.

She was left alone in a hallway of smoke, and a coughing Hattori who was staring at her in a horror that she didn’t understand. She couldn’t pull her eyes away from him.

She didn’t understand his reaction, and thinking about that was better then thinking about her own.

Hattori ran a hand through his hair, and he looked around wildly, pacing as he tried to parse together what he’d just seen.

Then he stopped and he turned to her, with so much concern and need in his expression. The same sort of need she’d grown up seeing on the detectives she’d known from the force when they were working a case.

“Why did you say that?” He asked. It wasn’t an accusation. It was a thirst of knowledge, “What did you mean? What did you mean you asked if you’d ever seen him before? He’s been there for you hasn’t he? You two were dating weren’t you?”

She stared at him, and as she closed her eyes she thought about not answering. But, she knew that curiosity from her father’s face. It was a fact that he needed for a case that he was working on. So she answered.

“It was always an illusion, wasn’t it though? He’s a magician, a master of the stage. I only ever saw what he thought I’d wanted to see. How can I ever trust him again?”

“Because he loves you.”

“And that’s how people get abused,” She answered to quickly. She opened her eyes again, and she saw him staring at her as if her words had slapped him. He didn’t move or try to explain. That was fine by her. She had spoken too quickly after all, “And I want to see him,” She eventually said, “But, he’s never going to give this up, is he? It’s who he is. And, I don’t want him to have to lie to me. Because that’s what he’d have to do to make it work.

“And it wouldn’t matter anyways. Because fuck him for keeping my dad’s attention away from me. Fuck him for using me as an alibi. Fuck him for letting it get this far despite how much he knows that I hate him - I hate Kid.”

“He isn’t Kid-” Hattori started.

Aoko shook her head, “He is,” She answered softly, “There’s no one else that Kaito can be. Otherwise he’d have stopped after getting shot the first time.”

“How do you know about that?” He asked.

She shook her head, and her willingness to answer him snapped, “How do you know that, Hattori?” She sneered at him as the sinking sensation threatened to send more tears, “Didn’t we just met you yesterday?”

He flinched at that, and she left. She ran. There was nothing she could do about that. She couldn’t stay there. Not with even the protectors of the law lying to her.

She hadn’t noticed Conan while watching Kaitou, and she most certainly hadn’t noticed him standing behind Hattori. She didn’t noticed him grabbing Hattori’s arm, nor the fact that slipped into her shadow and followed her away from the station.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock and John were at 221b getting cleaned up from their assistance with the second victim - Long afternoon watching the bomb crew in the heat of the sun while Sherlock tried to figure out where the explosives had been sourced from without bothering the experts - when Kuroba showed up at their door.

He simply stared at them from the doorway, and they stared back once they’d noticed him, John first and then Sherlock.

“We’re going out for dinner,” John eventually spoke up, “Care to join us?”

He nodded, and then he looked down at his outfit, an engrish shirt and jeans, before looking at them again, button ups and proper trousers. Sherlock was in a suit, “Is this alright?”

John nodded, “We’re just going to Angelo’s,” He said.

Sherlock nodded, “Not much of a dress code there.”

Kaito smiled weakly, “Thanks,” He said, “For not asking.”

“Do you want us to?” John asked.

Kaito’s smile tightened, and it threatened to break for a moment, “My girlfriend found out, and her dad’s job is to arrest me.” He answered simply.

“Well, shit,” John hissed.

Sherlock watched them for a moment as the tension tightened for a moment before it loosened, “Dinner?” He asked.

John nodded, “Did you want to wash up a bit first though, Kaito?”

“Yeah,” He nodded, “I’ll be a few minutes. Just want to - I just need a moment.”

“Take all of them,” Sherlock provided with a grace that caught John off guard, “We’ll still be here. In no hurry.”

Kaito nodded, and then he headed to the bathroom. It was nearly a stumble, but John doubted he even know how to do that. Not after the stories he’d heard after meeting the kid. About all the times he’d gone to school recovering from being shot, and he’d done a quick search of Kid after the boys had headed back to their hotel rooms last night. And, it had left him speechless, the man’s ability to perform.

And, knowing that she had seen through his act, was only proof to John about the value she had to Kaito. 

He glanced at Sherlock, “Hope you don’t-”

“Why would I?” He asked, “We always eat at Angelo’s. It will be nice to have a new face there. I still think it’s ridiculous that that’s what you want to do.”

“Oh?” John asked, “And what do you think I’d want to do?”

Sherlock stared at John, “I don’t know. You’re the one always telling me what it is that normal people do. Like you know.”

John frowned. He rolled his eyes. He ultimately didn’t say anything to that. It wouldn’t have mattered. After the last year, he couldn’t help feeling more of a kinship to Sherlock then he did to everyone else. He wasn’t the normal one, and perhaps that was because he’d never been.

Kaito stepped back out of the bathroom with a smile on his face. John could still see the strain in it, but it was healing. He wanted to think that it was healing. “So,” Kaito put his hands in his pockets, “Angelo’s? Sounds Italian.”

Sherlock nodded, “Because it is.”

“Sounds different,” Kaito answered, “Sounds good. Thanks, by the way.” That smile weakened, and John knew that vulnerability. Kaito wasn’t acting, not for them, “I didn’t know where else I could go.”

Sherlock nodded, and John smiled back, “You can stay on the couch for the night as well if you’d like,” He offered, “Sounds like you’ve had a rough day, and you mentioned that you were sharing the same hotel with the rest, didn’t you?”

Kaito nodded, “Shinichi said, but yeah, it’s true.” Kaito nearly laughed, “And avoiding all of them tonight sounds fantastic. Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it.”

 

* * *

 

Aoko was on the Tube. She didn’t know where the train was taking her, but it was away from the station. She didn’t know why her feet had lead her to where it had, but she also didn’t care. 

She would the moment she let herself think about anything other then Kaito, but that wasn’t now. 

It was starting to be now. As she realized she was struggling to breath. She stumbled off of the tube, and she she stumbled to a wall where she struggled to breath. A woman started rubbing her back. Aoko jumped away from the blonde. The stranger simply smiled at her.

“Nihongo de hansemasu ka?” She asked.

Aoko squinted at the woman, but she nodded, “Yes,” She whispered, “Do you?”

“Of course, dear. If subways give you panic attacks…”

“They don’t,” Aoko replied. Her senses were soothed by the interruption. She couldn’t think about Kaito or of his lies or her stupidity when she was forced to focus on the woman in front of her, blonde and young, who spoke a language that had nothing to do with the land they were in. That Aoko’s face didn’t give away. Asian yes, but Chinese or Korean -

“I’m from Japan,” The woman answered. The question had been unspoken, but apparently her suspicion had been an easy thing to read, “Are you lost girl?”

“Oh no!” A boy pipped up, and Aoko recognized him once the woman moved to the side so they could both see him, “She’s with me, ma’am. Adults just run so fast!”

The woman smiled, but it made her think of Kaito. Aoko didn’t trust it. The woman glanced at Aoko, but then she knelt down before Conan, “I saw Dr. Watson with Sherlock today,” She whispered. Aoko could barely hear, but she doubted, by Conan’s shiver, that the woman with the actor’s smile would have let her hear on accident, “Do you think you could pass on a message to Sherlock for me?”

Conan nodded. He glanced at Aoko, and she saw a sharpness in his gaze. It wasn’t unlike the one that she’d seen in Kaito’s as she realized the truth of him. 

“It’s just like last time,” She told Conan, “He’ll understand.”

Conan nodded, “And I won’t get answers from either of you will I? If I ask that is?”

The woman smiled, “Not at all,” She answered, “But don’t let that worry you, Silver Bullet. You’re not the only one in my gun.”

Conan said nothing. He simply watched as the smirking woman left.

“Who was that?” Aoko asked once the woman had vanished.

“I can’t tell you.” Conan answered, “Can we go back to the station though? I’m scared now.”

Aoko nodded, and she took Conan’s hand, “You know how to get back?” She asked, “I noticed you talking to the officers at the station in English…”

“Oh? You don’t know English?” Conan nodded fervently, “I got us. We’ll get back to the station! I won’t fail you today!”

“You’d be the first today, Conan,” Aoko mumbled as she straightened up, “You’d be the first.”

 

* * *

 

Lestrade entered Sherlock’s flat the next morning to see a boy sleeping under a white cape on their couch, “Sherlock?” Greg called out.

“Coming,” Lestrade heard the muffled response through the closed door. Heavy steps coming down from the upstairs had Lestrade turn to see John. Lestrade smiled slight at the sight of the stil fully ground doctor.

“You look a little ragged, John.” He said at the sight of him, “Hope you slept well.”

“Not as young as I use to be,” He grumbled with a worn smile, “Stayed up a bit late watching telly and playing Cludeo with someone other then Sherlock.”

“Still don’t understand why you refuse to do that, John,” Sherlock answered throwing his door open as he finished up with tying his tie.

“The victim is literally-”

“Would you care for a cuppa, Detective?” Sherlock asked cutting off John on their long standing argument.

Lestrade shook his head, “Just had breakfast, I’m afraid. Here on business. A boy went missing last night, and - while Hattori and Hakuba aren’t worried about their friend, his guardian is-”

Sherlock pointed to the bundle on the couch. The boy rolled over and moaned, but he didn’t wake. Looked like he was about, but he hadn’t managed it yet, “Found him for you. He came by last night. Friends with Conan. Had a falling out with his girlfriend is all, I’m afraid. Needed a different set of faces.”

“I thought I told him to text the Inspector,” John asked with his gaze firmly on Sherlock.

“While playing Cludeo,” Sherlock answered, “He had typed it up, but then never hit the send button during the game.”

“You noticed that but didn’t comment?” John growled.

Sherlock shrugged, “Did it matter?”

“What if I had done that?” John asked while motioning to the height that, until recently, Lestrade had thought was the only height he had.

Sherlock paled, “Point made.”

“Yeah,” John grumbled before stepping around Lestrade to Kaito’s side. He shook the boy lightly, and kid threw out his arm and glitter to John’s face forced the man to stumble backwards with a cough.

“I’m so sorry!” Followed the action quickly, and Kaito flew to John’s side, helping the older man stay up on his feet. “John! I’m so sorry,” He continued to mumbled over and over again as John regained his composure and struggled to regain his sight as the glitter clung to his face.

“Told you not to give the boy his cape to use as a blanket,” John stated with a pointed look in the direction that he thought Sherlock was standing in. A moment earlier and John would have been right.

Lestrade watched as Sherlock plugged and filled the sink as Kaito lead the man he’d been the one to blind. John took the aid with grace and silence filled the room until Sherlock started to wash the glitter off of John’s face, “Lestrade is here because your text didn’t go out last night,” Sherlock supplied with a glance up at Kaito, “You should-”

Kaito nodded profusely, “Ye-Yeah. Of course,” His hand rested on John for a moment longer, “I’m sorry. Just, jumpy right now.”

John nodded, “I sleep with a BB gun under my pillow,” He said by way of sympathetic understanding.

Lestrade stared at the grown man for a moment before it clicked again that John wasn’t always so tall, and he remembered his own present, “Why is that under your pillow?”

John simply shrugged at that, but he didn’t answer. He took the offered towel from Sherlock and dried off his face, “Should I bring you two up something from the cafe downstairs? Seems like we might not have time for a proper breakfast?” John asked with a pointed turning to Lestrade for his answer.

“Have you heard back from the bomber yet?”

“No,” Kaito answered with a sigh, “But I need to get back to help with heist prep.”

Sherlock grabbed his shoulder, “Hadn’t gotten to asking last night. Well, I tried-”

“That was the worst possible time to think of work,” John grumbled from the side as he grabbed his wallet from his coat.

Sherlock shrugged, “I need to go over the heist with someone. Preferably you.”

Lestrade raised an eyebrow, “This kid isn’t even apart of the taskforce, are you sure, Sherlock-?”

The trio in front of him glared at him. John and Sherlock glared. Kaito simply stared at the man like he’d been beaten within an inch of his life. Lestrade glanced back at the couch, the white cape, and his eyes followed the glitter to where John now stood.

“Oh.” Was all he could managed, “Bloody hell,” He whispered, “And I thought it couldn’t get any weirder three days ago.”

“Two days,” Sherlock amended, “This is the third day. Third pip.”

“Heist is in two days,” John added, “Friday night.”

“You two do know that you two behave the exact same, except with the whole he’s actually leaving your line of sight thing now, right? It’s eerie.”

“Well, You ensured that him leaving my sight wouldn’t happen if I was taking care a kid, Lestrade,” Sherlock answered with a grumble and a roll of his eyes. John simply smirked.

“Yeah,” Lestrade said simply, “But, I don’t know? I thought he’d be different or something. That I’d see the two of you in a different light or what not now. But you two act the exact same is all I’m trying to say.”

“There’s a reason why we decided that we would call the little John a Holmes,” Sherlock answered, “At least then around people that knew the family he could loosen up the act. He’s ordinary in his own ways after all. Sentiment and what not else, but still sharper then an actual seven year old brat.”

“Firstly - He’s not ordinary. Second - Sentiment isn’t a bad thing, Sherlock.” Lestrade corrected.

Sherlock smiled weakly, “We’ll see,” He answered softly, “Kaito,” He whispered, “That message might be best sent now?”

“He’s not going to arrest me, is he?”

“Arrest you for what?” Lestrade answered with an unamused glare at the kid, “Worrying your guardian?”

Kaito swallowed, and then he nodded, “I’ll call and explain what happened. Then I’ll stay with Sherlock?”

“You’ll stay with Sherlock,” Sherlock confirmed.

John nodded with added permission.

“Well, then,” Lestrade answered, “I’ll be back at the station then since I have paperwork to handle and officers to yell at. I’ll hear the moment you hear something, understood?”

“Of course,” Sherlock squinted, “Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because that’s not how you’ve always worked, Sherlock.” Lestrade corrected. John’s chuckle was rewarded with a firm, betrayed glare from Sherlock.

 

* * *

 

Conan was sitting beside Aoko, and she watched as him and Hattori chatted comfortably in English on their way to the station. She glanced at her father, and then she looked at the quiet form of Hakuba trailing behind him.

Him. She feel in step beside him, “I think someone tried to kidnap me yesterday.” She told him, quietly.

Hakuba glanced at her father and then at the chatting pair that was in front of them as they walked from the tube station to the police station. Then he looked at her, and answered softly, “I heard.”

“Conan.”

“Yeah.”

“Who was that?”

“That was,” He stopped for a moment, and then he looked away from her, “Kuroba should be the one-”

“Fuck him.”

“You don’t mean that, do you?”

“Yeah,” She hissed, “You saw him yesterday. You asked him to help, and he just slipped into Kid’s persona walking you guys through what he’d do for a heist. You can not tell me that was my Kaito Kuroba, Hakuba! I don’t know why he’d do that all things considering -” Her voice was gaining a manic edge to it, but she didn’t care.

“She’s the one that put a hit order on Kid and baited him out here,” Hakuba cut her off, “Most likely was trying to grab you from the streets after you ran off so she could use you against him.”

“What?” Her breath managed to breathe out the single word.

Hakuba nodded, and he pulled his coat in tighter around him as he kept his eyes on the street around them, “That’s what she does.” He answered, “That’s why Kuroba is helping us so openly.”

“Because he’s in danger?”

“Because you are.”

“But he could just stop, couldn’t he?”

Hakuba opened his mouth, then about his answer. Whatever it had been it had lead to him gaining a worn out look in his eyes, but he still tried again, “He could, but we know more now? I don’t know if would change things?”

 

* * *

 

The flat was a mess from breakfast, and Kaito was drawing up the blueprints from memory while Sherlock and John talked about the quick run Kaito gave them when the call came. Sherlock answered the phone, stepped away from the group and motioned for them to keep working as he listened to the new voice at the other end. 

“Four hours?” Sherlock answered with a frown, “I can barely get to St. Barts with Lunch time traffic in one.” John couldn’t hear the bomber’s response, but Sherlock was shaking by the time he hung up. He glanced at John, “He wanted to make sure I have plenty of time with the nephew tonight before we start the games tomorrow. If little John isn’t here then the bomb will go off during the first phone call.”

John nodded once. There was nothing more to be said, “I presume you need to get to St. Bards then?”

Sherlock nodded, “Haven’t a moment to waste.” They turned to Kaito, “Keep on the blueprints. Make two copies.” Kaito nodded, and Sherlock handed John a notebook, “Burn the note in the fireplace once your done reading it.”

“You’re sure?” John asked slowly. Sherlock nodded.

“What is he sure about?”

John glanced at Kaito, but he wrote instead of answering. Sherlock didn’t move until John shoved the note into Kaito’s hands.

Kaito’s hands trembled, and he sat as the pounding of steps left him alone with the ramifications of his actions. His hands didn’t tremble under stress, but he wasn’t the one in danger. He set the notebook down carefully beside the plans for the Tower of London, and he buried his fingers into his hair. Apparently, even if Aoko hadn’t seen him, someone else had, but, his luck held, so had Sherlock had seen him as well. 

Kaito swallowed, and he picked his pen back up. He got back to work. He didn’t rush even with his pounding heart. A mistake on his recreated plans could mean someone’s death. 

Anyone’s death.

 

* * *

 

“That was insultingly easy.” Sherlock grumbled as they left the autopsy room, “Clearly an overdose of botox - same poison as Carl Powers. You said Mrs. Hudson is always going on about the brother falling out with her, right? Can’t have been the brother - no, it would have to be whoever is assisting with the botox,” Sherlock pulled out his phone and started searching the net, “Raoul de Santos it seems,” Sherlock mumbled before dialing a quick number, “Just need the evidence. I have a favor I can call in for his internet records,” He grumbled to John, “Then we’ll have the day free as he wants to make sure make sure the house is ready for John, Dr. Watson.”

“Brillant,” John whispered, “Saw all of that in one look?”

“Is it really that surprising?” Sherlock asked as he waited for his call to get through. John shook his head.

“Suppose not, but I still keep saying it, don’t I? I can stop if you want.”

“No,” Sherlock answered, “It’s - fine. Now, I just need my laptop and the internet to post the solution. Not a moment to waste, John.”

 

* * *

 

Sherlock sat across from John in the cafe below 221b. His laptop on the table as he clicked enter. A moment later, the pink phone rung, and Sherlock put it on speaker. John leaned in closer.

“Where are you?” He asked.

“He sounds-”

“No,” John snapped, “If you want to live you will tell us nothing.”

“But he-”

“No,” Sherlock interrupted, “John is right. Stop talking about him - tell me where you are. Where are you-” John hit the end call, and he stared at Sherlock.

“I don’t know why I did that,” He quickly pulled his hands back, “But - I know elder people - and she was stuck on repeat.”

Sherlock simply stared at John, “We have all afternoon to locate her,” He whispered.

John nodded and he swallowed, “How are we going to do that, Sherlock?”

Sherlock closed his laptop, and he pulled out his phone, “Call Lestrade. There’s a-”

John’s gaze turned to the TV screen, and John pointed at the screen, “Sherlock,” He whispered.

Sherlock turned to the screen. Breaking News : Explosion. Unknown death tolls.

“He was never going to play fair,” Sherlock whispered.

John swallowed, “Maybe it’s a coincidence. The news networks are never that quick-”

“Unless they got a tip off,” Sherlock whispered, “I should have known. ‘I’m sorry, this one is dysfunctional.’ That was how this pip started…”

“Do you think he’ll pull the same stunt tomorrow - changing the rules of the game that is?” John whispered as well.

“Why else would he state that now?”

“He’s insane, Sherlock.”

“Well - We were bored, John. Can’t say the same now, can we?”

“Jesus, Sherlock. People just died-” John glanced at Sherlock and rubbed the bridge of his nose, “I’m sorry, I just - You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Sherlock frowned, “Why are you apologizing?”

John looked up from his hand and leaned back in his chair, “Because I know you’re not an actually heartless Bastard toward the suffering of others, and it sounded like I was throwing you under the bus for it. And you’re right, we  _ were _ bored. We.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John with a raised eyebrow, “Really?”

John nodded, “Yeah.”

“Not at all bothered by that, are you?”

“Slightly,” John answered, “But, I think, really, at this point I should just roll with it. Crimes are going to happen, and we don’t decide how people react to us just because we’re bothering up their plans. This isn’t our fault, and we’re going to stop him. We are.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “Really? That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

John shrugged and let out a slow breath, “Really.”

Sherlock straightened up for a moment before glancing at the pink phone and pocketing it, “Well, then,” Sherlock answered, “Um, well then-”

“We have time,” John answered, “I’d like to see how Harry is doing.”

“I thought you said she didn’t care?” Sherlock answered.

John shrugged, “We have time to burn,” He answered, “And she’s still family. I might as well since I have the chance.”

Sherlock stared, “This is another of those sentimental things isn’t it?”

John laughed, and he shook his head, “Yeah,” He muttered, “Yeah, I suppose it’s absolutely that sort of sentimentality sort of thing.”

Sherlock shrugged, “Do you want me to come with?”

John nodded, “Considering I might get punched? I’d rather be able to toss you in the way while I run away.”

“You make sound like Mycroft and I have the healthy sibling relationship,” Sherlock commented as he rose from the table with his laptop.

John nodded, “You know what?” He answered, rising himself, “You very well might all things considering.”

 

* * *

 

John slowly raised a hand to the buzzer to Harry’s flat. He glanced at Sherlock, “You know-” He started then Sherlock pushed the button for John.

“You dragged me over here to push this button for you, didn’t you?”

John winced, and that wince grew to mix with fear when he heard Harry’s voice drift over the intercom, “Hello?”

“Hey,” John choked, “Harry. John here.”

“Oh?” Harry responded, “I wouldn’t know. You see, I gave him my old phone when he returned to London so he’d keep in touch with me, and it’s been over a year since I’ve heard him. So you can just do what you did to me and-”

John started to walk away from the intercom, “Yep,” He muttered, “Went as well as I thought it would.” He glanced back and saw Sherlock staring at the intercom.

Sherlock looked up and stared at John, “You didn’t pick up your vocabulary from the army, did you?”

“You don’t get everything right, Sherlock.”

“You don’t know that.”

John glanced over at Sherlock and smirked. Sherlock rolled his eyes. He nodded at the bar they were passing by, “You said you wanted to go a pub or something like that before going back, didn’t you?”

John smiled, “Yeah. I did,” He pulled open the door, “Let’s get wasted.”

“I’m not getting -”

“We might both die tomorrow,” John answered with a smile on his face, “We’re getting pints. It’s a sentiment thing that friends do.”

Sherlock glanced about, and John knew the look in Sherlock’s eyes - the lost confusion, “Ah,” He answered. He smiled at John, a vulnerable sort of smile, “Well then, I’ll just have to take your word for it.”

“Yeah,” John answered, “That you will.”

 

* * *

 

John was stumbling. Sherlock was giggling. Mrs. Hudson was staring at the boys as they entered 221, “Where have you two been?” She asked.

John smirked at her, “Do I really have to say, Mrs. Hudson?” He asked gently as he helped Sherlock straighten back up. 

Sherlock nodded, “Indeed, Mrs. Hudson, your nose still works-”

Mrs. Hudson put her hands on her hips, “Your brother is upstairs, Sherlock. Should I warn him about the state the two of you are in?”

Sherlock smirked before trying to dash up the stairs, “This- will be so much more interesting then this morning - stupid Moriarty.”

John found himself giggling as he followed, much more slowly, after Sherlock. He glanced at his watch, “Huh? It’s been a rather long amount of time, hasn’t it?” He rubbed at his brow, plastered in sweat.

When John got to the doorway of his flat, he saw Sherlock with a hand on Mycroft’s shoulder, “You know. I always thought you were the worse older sibling that a person could have - never quite knew why,” He admitted, “But - considering I’ve just met with John’s sister… I know that not to be the truth. You would never call me-”

John cleared his throat, “Younger. Harry is younger.”

“No -- she isn’t,” Sherlock answered with a furrowed brow, “Are you sure she isn’t?”

John raised an eyebrow, “Fair enough point.”

“You’re both wasted,” Mycroft stated drily, “Explains why you were both out considering-” He pointedly looked at his watch, “We agreed that I would pick up John nearly an hour ago.”

“How much time have I got?” John asked, squinting. He bobbed forward a bit.

Mycroft sported his trademark tight lip smile, “Not long it would seem. Are you coming as well to pick up your nephew, Sherlock?”

The grown man nodded, “Friends are there for friends when things happen?” He muttered, “Sounds like something John would tell me?”

John patted Sherlock on the shoulder, “Yeah. It does sound like something your nephew would say.”

Mycroft stared at the two of them with mute horror growing on his face, to their oblivious awareness, “Heaven have mercy,” He whispered as he set a hand on the small of the back of both men to lead them to the door.

“There is no heaven, Mycroft,” Sherlock chided. John raised a finger to counter and argue, but he stopped, squinted and seemed to forget what he was going to talk about. Mycroft kept leading them.

“Come on,” Mycroft groaned, “We don’t have time for this.”

 

* * *

 

Sherlock and John sat in a spare bedroom in Mycroft’s estate - there was no other word for the space, and John stared at Sherlock, “Getting plastered before this was your idea, and-” A sharp intake of air cut him off, “I hate you. It now feels like my bones are melting - while at the same time my brains feels like a shriveled up mess.”

Sherlock shrugged. It was John’s idea, and both knew it even if John tried to disclaim it, “Are you aware of the fact that you’re clutching at your shirt, right above your heart?”

John looked down before he bent over, “Oh god, Sherlock,” John whispered, “It feels like I’m-” He screamed. Sherlock refused to look away.

After all, this was why John entered his life, and he’d come to know that John was one of the toughest sets of nails he’d ever met.

John looked up, panting, panic filled his eyes, “Did Shinichi tell you that there’s a hair of a chance that this could kill me? Did Mycroft?” He asked. He gritted his teeth, “Every time - there’s a possibility - according to his contact - that whatever is causing this reaction won’t.”

Sherlock swallowed, “He did not.”

John nodded, “It wasn’t big. It really wasn’t, but-” He grumbled. The man seized again, “Oh god,” He whispered, “It’s-”

The noise that followed, and the smell of the fog that wafted up to Sherlock’s face would always come to mind at a sight of that hazy material. Metallic and sharp, always uncomfortable, the memory of what his friend’s potential death would have been like before they’d ever met. His own head throbbed though, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to refind the memory he was trying to tuck away in his memory palace.

He finally looked back at John, gazing up at him from a pool of oversized clothing, “On the positive side,” John grumbled, “That burned the alcohol out of my system.”

Sherlock smirked, “Sounds like a shot of something I should take.”

“Oh, You’re hilarious right now.”

“Am I missing something? Was that a sort of joke? What I said?”

John rolled his eyes, but he simply fell back on the bed and closed his eyes, reorienting, “I’m going to sleep, Sherlock. That wasn’t the best of ideas we could have had”

Sherlock nodded, and he fell down in the spot beside John, “Sounds like a good plan to me,” He grumbled.

John glanced at the man, but he closed his eyes once more realizing that he really didn’t care about how they got their sleep, just that they did.

Tomorrow was going to be a very long day after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is going to be another one about 10k just as a fair ends up. It will be sometime within the next 48 hours. 
> 
> Which is a thing that she says because she just saw that it was calling editing this chapter at 2 am in the morning and she no longer knows when today ends and tomorrow begins.
> 
> Also. Again because I don't want to end the next one with a long spiel - The next segment will be not be up any time soon. I have an outline to completion. This will be a finished work, but life is about to happen to me for an unknown amount of time. If you want to read the next segment - which will bring our Holmes boys to Tokyo and circle around Conan's dynamics with Ran, the BO, and Irene and will be called The Secret of Scandals - then I highly recommend subscribing to the series as a whole if you have not done so already because that is a thing you can do that. 
> 
> Now that that bit of business is over - Thanks for reading. I really do appreciate all of the love and support shown to this series so far. I love writing it, and I wasn't going to upload it. I'm glad that I did. This has been a pleasure to write and to share. :) Thank you. It wouldn't be without that with the support and love given.


	8. The Final Pip

* * *

 

 

Lestrade started his day with a phone call he’d feared to hear since Sherlock told him who John Holmes was to him. A phone call he’d figured he’d have been wrong to fear since he found out the truth of Doctor John Watson.

It was Sherlock’s number, and broken man on the other end, “He’s gone. John’s gone,” Sherlock stuttered out in stilted tones, “And so is the phone.”

Lestrade had had coffee. He was already at the station. He was staring at Sally, “What was that?” He repeated.

“I left it on the counter in the kitchen after breakfast, and I heard it ring,” Sherlock managed. Lestrade didn’t know how. The man sounded like his other half was missing or dead at his feet. A matter that might have been far too close to reality, “John was in the kitchen. He didn’t - I came out. He was gone.”

“Sherlock-” He said with a tone that he had used far too often when responding to calls.

“Moriarty has John, Lestrade. I think I’m allowed to panic.”

“When you put it that way,” Lestrade answered slowly, “Then yes. I would agree. I’ll come to you-”

“No,” Sherlock hurried, “I’m with Mycroft. We don’t need incompetence. I just need you to stay out of our way while we get my son back!”

The line, to Lestrade’s surprise, went dead. 

He stared at his phone. 

It was Sally’s voice that stirred him from his shock, “What’s up with the freak and his family now?”

“The bomber has his kid,” Lestrade choked out. His eyes were on her, but his gaze was still trying to process that fact.

Sally snorted, “That’s because Sherlock is the bomber. He’s just wasting our time-”

“The man was crying. Over his kid. Who has been kidnapped by a bomber that killed 12 people yesterday. And now your prejudice against Sherlock is getting in the way of the facts. Go home. Now. I don’t want you here while the bomber is our active case.”

“What about John?” Someone asked from nearby.

“MI is on it,” Lestrade answered, “Sherlock went to his brother because he couldn't trust us with this.” He couldn't stop himself again. He stared at Sally as she left, “Worried about incompetence he said. We’re going to sit still til we hear otherwise.”

No one argued with that, but there was a mumbled “Fuck, Sally,” That Lestrade caught from Sgt. DeVito. Lestrade raised his eyebrow as he stared at the officer beside him. “John’s family as much as anyone else on the force,” He explained after a moment. “And,” The looked like he was about to choke on his words, “So is Sherlock. God, never thought I would say that.”

Lestrade glanced around, and he saw a single empty chair. He pulled it over. He really needed to take a seat at hearing that from his division. 

After five years of working with Sherlock, He never thought he'd hear that admission. Lestrade ran his fingers through his hair, and he did the only thing he could. He hoped for the best, and he prayed that John would be okay.

“Yeah,” Lestrade agreed, “Never thought I’d find myself agreeing with that either.”

 

* * *

 

 

Shinichi was waiting in the Yard’s lobby for Kaito to show. Kaito did, but not on Wednesday. Not on the day after Aoko approached him. The Inspector got a text. Kaito had a bug, and he was staying with Sherlock so he wouldn’t get the rest of them sick. He still sat out in the lobby waiting for Kaito. Hattori had him on speed dial, and the officers really hadn’t taken to listening to a kid well. Even if they knew him as John’s friend or as the Kid Killer. He was also so tired of acting when this trip to London had given him so much freedom in that regard.

So it was Wednesday when Shinichi saw him enter into the station. Somehow, he looked even more ragged then he had under Aoko’s gaze. He looked like he hadn’t slept or showered in the time that had passed. He held a folder out to Shinichi, “I’m sorry about the disappearing act. I’ve had to play hide and seek today to get here,” He said with an exhaustion that sent terror up Shinichi’s spin, “I’m going to talk to Aoko,” Kaito continued without a single attempt to assure him that everything was okay. That his poker face, that that smile he always wore when he couldn’t smile on his own, wasn’t gone because there was nothing left behind for him to hide behind, “These are plans for you - and for you alone - in case she decides to kill me for what I’ve done to her, kay?”

“She won’t,” Shinichi started, but Kaito was already gone.

Shinichi didn’t open the folder, but he stayed there in the lobby with it. He watched them leave. They didn’t acknowledge him.

Shinichi sat then, not for the first time that day, but he sat and he slided the contents out into his lap.

“Shit,” He whispered in Japanese, because there’s nothing else to be said. He quickly slide it back into the envelope, and a moment later he’d slipped out the front door that Kaito used with his phone in hand, number pulled up and ringing before he can formulate the words for his request.

Ai picked up the phone and answered in the only way she could, unsurprised and already knowing why, “Your dad is already on his way.”

“Thanks,” He managed, “Thank you so much.”

And he hung up before she could ask questions. He didn’t have answers to give her. For the first time in a very long time, he wouldn’t have been willingly withholding any sort of information from her. All he had were sinking feelings and a firm knowledge of Kaito. 

He wouldn’t have given Shinichi workable plans to execute a Kaito Kid heist if he didn’t expect to be unavailable to perform it. If he didn’t know he’d be incapacitated for it.

“Shit,” He hissed again. Now - Now, he knew what it felt to be told segments of a plan and not the whole of it. He understood it why such things were necessary, but he hated being on this side of a play. He hated not knowing all of the pieces and all of the plays in motion.

 

* * *

 

 

Katio held her hand, and he kept their pace brisk. It was like holding a fish. It didn’t hold him back, but it was easier to guide her this way. She hadn’t wanted to hear his voice. He didn’t want to use it before he had to anyways.

He lead them to the park near the station. He didn’t want to go far, and he kept in sight of the mainroad. Just in case something went wrong. He wanted all the eyes on them that could be.

He turned around then once he had decided that it was as good a spot as any. He kept his hold on her hands. She didn’t pull away.

“They killed my father,” He said without preampled, “I didn’t know that when I performed that first Kid heist. I just, I missed him I suppose. And I had just found out then - that he was Kid. Three years ago when Kid returned that is. I didn’t know before then.”

He paused, but she didn’t say anything. Her eyes gave him nothing. He wasn’t telling her anything new.

He looked away, “But that was when everything collapsed around my ears. I’m sorry for lying to you, Aoko. I just, the men that killed my father. They’re after me now, and I wanted to keep you safe-”

“Are you just sorry for lying to me then?” She asked, “Or are you stopping now?”

He swallowed. He closed his eyes. He struggled to find words. Her harsh tones, “When you called me your boyfriend,” He answered, “That was the first time I had been happy in the last three years.”

“No,” She whispered, with a voice filled only with a broken heart, “It wasn’t.”

He didn’t dare look. He could already see Aoko’s face in the pits of despair. He had seen it at her mother’s funeral. The first time he lied to her, and worn the poker face his father had taught him to use had been for her sake. Because he didn’t feel right sharing in the same pits of pain when it hadn’t been his mother who died. It had seemed disrespectful to her lose. So he watched behind a childish face that didn’t know what to do. He memorized every line. Every crevice her tears filled, and he saw it again now without looking. He might collapse at that in ways that didn’t dare to do, not in that moment. Never in front of her.

“No,” He agreed honestly, “I suppose not, but it made being Kaito still bearable. You are the best thing in my life.”

“You’ve always been a performer,” She answered. She was finally pulling her hands away from him, and he let his hands cling to the empty air that had been filled only moment earlier, “It’s the show that matters to you.”

“I love you, Aoko.”

“Then stop. Stop making a fool of my dad. Stop using me for alibi’s. Stop chasing the showlights on the other side of the law.”

He opened his eyes, and he memorized her face in this moment. It would have been disrespectful not to, and for once his controlled expression wasn’t a lie made to manipulate. It kept the lie back. Because this answer, the one that he hated, the truth, it didn’t hurt.

“I can’t do that, Aoko. I’m sorry that you don’t understand. But, I can’t give up Kid. Not even for you, and I am an idiot for it.” 

She stepped back, and he saw the shine of a scope from behind her. He smiled, and he didn’t dare to move. He didn’t chase after her. He didn’t reach out. She walked away.

And, after a single shot echoed through the streets of London, he finally collapsed in pain in front of her.

She was bending over him. Her hand pressed to his chest, and he could only struggle to stay awake as he relied on strangers to make the call that Aoko never could have made. An emergency call for medical assistance in English.

“I love you,” He managed once more because those were the last words she deserved to hear from him.

 

* * *

 

 

Jim was sitting on the building he had John in. An apple in one hand and binoculars in the other. He had his eyes on Kaito, and his own rifle beside him in case John missed. Rifles could be hard to handle after all with the kickback and all.

He’d spent a few hours training the boy that morning after blackmailing the kid to come to him. Picked it up quickly like he was a proper Holmes. Figured out how to properly compensate his size with the rifle’s strength. Looked nothing like Mycroft, but that Dr. Watson that had danced around Sherlock? Far more likely to be a parent then the Ice Man, and when his men tried to find the paperwork on Dr. Watson it was easy to figure out that he was MI6 with a deep cover assignment somewhere, and it explained why the two were kept seperate. Kids were easy to manipulate. Most likely told his actual father was dead - or perhaps he genuinely believed that Mycroft was his father. Would be safest for him that way, clever as he was.

Still, didn’t matter. It was clear that Sherlock loved the kid. He watched Kaito talking to his date, Aoko the idiot that thought love might mean something. It was quite thrilling watching Kaito’s face, playing her like a fiddle. A proper owner with a pet. More interesting then Sherlock turned out to be.

Then she started to slip away from Kaito, and Jim slide back from the ledge and watched through his scope. He didn’t typically work the wet work assignments, but he didn’t dare let anyone else handle John.

He’d spent the morning abusing the boy. He isolated John by planting a fake bomb in 221c and using that as leverage to force John to come to him. It had been child’s play from there to isolate the boy emotionally into following his instructions. Still, a hair of resistance from John, but as long as Jim had it clear that Sherlock was in danger? John was wrapped around his pinky.

After the morning session of being hair trigger with John as they trained on rifles, they had spent the afternoon trying to find Kaito. When he’d pulled Aoko out of the station, John had volunteered where the other kid had mentioned he’d be spending the afternoon. Jim had nearly slapped him for not saying sooner, but he really didn’t care. It was the fear. It was training and breaking John that mattered.

He watched as the shot landed perfectly in Kaito’s chest. He smiled, and he straightened up. He pulled out his phone, dialed the pink burner he’d given the Holmes, and then pinned it under his ear as he took apart his own gun.

“Roof.” Was all he said before hanging up. He didn’t need to remind the boy what he had over him or where in the room he had to hide the gun to ditch it. He was too smart for that, and if he failed that then Jim didn’t want him.

John made it to the roof, and there was a flame in his eyes, “There,” He spat, “I did it.”

“Mh-hmm,” Jim purred, “That you did.”

“You said I could go now,” John demanded, “That you would leave me and Sherlock alone if I did what you told me.”

Jim smiled. Children could be so stupid sometimes. So tunnel vision, “And, what, John, was it that you did exactly? Spell it out to me.”

“I killed Kaitou Kid!” John shouted, and then he paled, “I-I killed someone?”

“You did,” Moriarty answered with a smile, “Just what do you think Sherlock would do when he sees you then? Because he’ll know. He knows everything in a simple glance. Unless you think  _ you  _ can hide blood stained hands that is?”

John’s eyes moistened, and he struggled to keep from crying.

Jim pressed, “Do you really think you’ll be able to go back to Sherlock? You’re broken now. You’ve killed someone.”

“You made me,” He whispered.

“And I don’t care,” Jim answered with a smile, “I don’t care that you’ve killed someone.”

John swallowed, and he struggled.

Jim nodded, “Time to go home, don’t you think?”

“221b?”

“Is that where you think you’ll still be able to find a home after the horrible thing you’ve done?”

“Where then?”

“With me, clearly. As I said. I don’t care.”

John stared at Jim, he didn’t say anything, but he let Jim lead him away and that was answer enough.

 

* * *

 

 

Shinichi was with Hattori and Hakuba in the station working the Kaitou Kid plans when Inspector Nakamori got the call. It hadn’t even been ten minutes since Kaito left with Aoko.

And now he was in critical condition. He was fighting for his life.

No one moved as Inspector Nakamori and Hakuba flew out of the room. Shinichi grabbed Hattori’s hand, “I’m scared,” He whispered for the sake of the Yard’s finest watching them.

“I’ll - I’ll take you back to the hotel,” Hattori mumbled before picking Shinichi up. Hattori held the envelope, and Shinichi leaned into Hattori’s ear as they left the station.

“I’ll need your help to cover for Kid at tomorrow’s heist. Ai already has dad bringing me more temps so I can fly back home after this.”

Hattori sighed, “You never stumbled into cases with lost cats, do you, Kudo?”

Shinichi shrugged, “To be fair,” Shinichi mumbled, “It is really more Sherlock’s case that we’ve stumbled into.”

Hattori would have laughed at that if their friend wasn’t currently hospitalized after an unknown snipper tried to kill him, “Hardly the point there.”

Shinichi nodded. What else was there to say to that?

 

* * *

 

 

Lestrade heard about Kaito Kuroba as the buzz made it through the station. He did the only thing he could with news like that. He slipped into his office, and he called Sherlock.

“What is it, Lestrade?”

“Kaito’s been shot. He’s in critical condition.”

Sherlock swore.

“Do you know what’s going on?”

“Nothing official. None of this case will be official.”

That hit Lestrade, and he locked his office door, “And, as a friend? Off the record anyways?”

Sherlock hesitated, but Lestrade didn’t take it personally, “John was the shooter.” 

“What the actual fuck is going on, Sherlock?”

“Long story short, Lestrade?” Sherlock sighed, “We’re conning Moriarty. He was hired to kill Kaitou Kid by a third party organization - they’re located in Japan. There is nothing we can do, but - But, we figured out his game with the phone the puzzles. He’s been trying to play us, distract myself to isolate John for the moment he changed the rules. Simply put, He’s using this job so he can try to break John so he can undo Mycroft’s work and my own when he’s grown.”

“Oh my god.”

“Luckily,” Sherlock replied, “He doesn’t know John’s an adult.”

“Kaito’s going to pull through, isn’t he?”

“John is an excellent shot, acclimatized to violence and a surgeon.”

Lestrade stumbled back into his chair as his knees gave out, “And his scalpel this time was a rifle?”

“Exactly. Now, I have to met up with someone before tomorrow’s heist. I’ve scratched her back now and need mine scratched in return if we want to see John returned unharmed.”

“Godspeed, Sherlock,” Lestrade whispered.

Sherlock hung up without a word.

 

* * *

 

 

Aoko was sitting beside Kaito’s side along side with Subaru as the all the machines that were barely keeping him alive whirred and buzzed, “I thought he was lying when he said he was trying to keep me safe,” She whispered, “But that doesn’t matter either, does it?”

Hakuba pulled her into a hug, and he rubbed her back as she let out the tears, “I’m sorry.”

“He was saying goodbye.”

“I’m so sorry, Aoko.”

“When it started, all those years ago… You saw it, and you barely knew him. He changed. He changed so much, but I didn’t see it, and now he’s dying.”

“Don’t say that,” Hakuba whispered before pulling back, “I didn’t know. I just couldn’t risk being wrong, and the doctor’s said the bullet missed everything important. He’s going to be back up and running around before we know it.”

“I don’t understand this. Any of it.”

“I mean,” He said slowly trying to buy words when a knock on the door caused them both to look at the new comer.

Hakuba jumped to his feet and stood between her and the blonde she’d met just a few days earlier in the tube station, “What are you doing here?” He asked.

Aoko pulled at his sleeve, “Hakuba-”

The stranger simply smiled at him, “Long time since we’ve seen each other hasn’t it?”

“I assure you. It hasn’t been long enough.”

“I owe Toichi, kid,” She answered simply with a shrug, “I’m here to make sure he doesn’t come back to haunt me from the grave.”

Hakuba stared at her. She nodded, “Moriarty is still applying pressure, and my job is already done. Words is Kaito here isn’t going to pull through, but he’s a fighter so it’s going to take a while before the doctor’s give up. Figured I should let you know why I am going to be stalking you two for a while.”

He sneered at that, “I thought it was a secret that makes a woman woman.”

She smiled, “I taught you well,” She whispered before swirling away to leave.

“You taught me well enough not to trust you,” He said simply.

She stopped, and she glanced back at Hakuba. She smiled, “Good.”

And then she left.

Hakuba turned back to Aoko, and she couldn’t stop herself, “Who is she?”

Hakuba smiled, a tight pained thing. Closed his eyes, and started to laugh, a manic thing, as he thought about the question. “She’s how I knew about Kaito,” He eventually managed to sputter out, “And - Maybe, just maybe, she’s the reason why we’re all alive right now.”

Aoko stared at the doorway. The woman, that he said had ordered the hit on Kaitou, had - ? “I can’t handle this.”

Hakuba sat back down beside her, and he held her close as she shivered, “No one would blame you for that.” He answered, “No one could.”

She watched Kaito’s chest, the slow raise, the proof of his living, “What’s going on?”

“He’s trying to stop bad guys.”

“He is a bad guy. That’s why my dad has a whole division to stop him.”

“He isn’t, and you know that,” It was curt Hakuba’s tone.

She started to pull away, but then she stopped, “Do you think he’ll stop now?”

“Because it’s nearly killed him again?”

She looked at him alarmed, “No. Because they’ll catch the bad guys now. He’s been shot, and hospitalized and the police know. Dad knows now. He’ll stop them from hurting Kaito again.”

She watched him carefully, but she didn’t know what to make of his expression. He tried several times to answer her, and when he finally did it wasn’t what she’d expected to hear from him, “Do you think Kaitou Kid could ever stop performing?”

Aoko’s silence was answer enough. It was only the hope of a bullet, that by a miracle wasn’t fatal, would knock some sense into him. But she knew him like the back of her hand, and she knew that neither changed often. And, it was nver while she was watching.

 

* * *

 

 

It was late friday night when Sherloc k stood beside Lestrade with a deep frown on his face as they watched the crew around them scramble about in preparation for the affairs that were about to proceed as they tried to stop the Kaito Kid heist. Because the police had no idea that the bullet in Kaito’s chest should have killed their efforts.

“Shinichi Kudo, huh?” Lestrade said giving the teen standing beside a Heiji a once over, “Yuusaku Kudo’s kid, right?”

Shinichi smirked, “Yeah, actually,” He said reaching a hand out to Lestrade to shake, “Though I’d rather my presence here go unnoticed and unrecorded.”

“Oh?” Lestrade smirked, “Is that cause I’m suppose to call you Kaito Kid then?”

Shinichi laughed, “Nah, though if you want a name to put down I suppose Conan will do. I mean, that’s the name my dad uses for that detective that he writes about.”

“That’s the reason for that, huh?” Lestrade commented drily.

Shinichi shrugged, “I mean, can you think of another reason?” Heiji gave the teen a sharp elbow to the chest that only caused an echo of ‘Bit not good,’ in John’s tiny voice to echo in his head. Lestrade slowly nodded, and hoped his face carried all the bits of confusion rather than dismay that was currently flying around behind it. 

Sherlock smirked at whatever it was he saw on Lestrade’s face before turning to Shinichi, “Plan on sticking around after the heist?”

“I have a case that I’m working on still - deep cover - sort of. Either way, Hattori twisted my arm. I’m going to stay as long as I comfortable can anyways.”

“So, we’re just not suppose to miss you the moment the gas fills the room and Kid enters?” Lestrade asked slowly.

Shinichi’s smile quivered, “When you put it that way it seems suspicious.”

“But the kid has alibi’s,” Inspector Nakamori grumbled, Sherlock quickly translated for Lestrade, “For some of the other heists, and he’s the real deal. So I’m not gonna call him out if he does.”

Lestrade glanced at Shinichi, “I can see why you’d take that namesake with ease,” He grumbled.

The Inspector glanced at Sherlock and then at the boys. He didn’t understand a word of what Lestrade’s answer, and Sherlock answered with a smile, “He said good that’s taken care off then. It’s good to have one less thing to worry about tonight then,” But then Sherlock’s smile dropped, “Any news about Kaito’s condition?”

The Inspector frowned, “They don’t know. He was looking fine, but then they told me it was touch and go again. I really shouldn’t be here, but Aoko insisted. Ever since his dad died when he was still a little one he’s been like a son for me.”

“His father died?” Sherlock asked with a raised eyebrow

“Stage accident,” He answered with ease, “About a decade ago - Had a bit of an international crowd now that I think about it. Maybe you heard of him - Kuroba Toichi?”

Sherlock nodded, “I know that name.”

The Inspector smiled, just a ghost, a thought of warm will at the thought of his friend’s legacy lasting so far from their homeland, “Yeah, he’s always wanted to be a magician since then.”

“Really?” Sherlock asked, “I’d have stayed as far away from something like that as I possibly could have - I mean considering an accident…”

The Inspector nodded, “Swears his dad wouldn’t have been that careless, and he wants to prove it by following in his old man’s footsteps.”

Sherlock nodded, and Lestrade would have been a fool to miss that sideways look he always gave John when he wanted to see if the boy - man - friend had seen what he had. He would have had to be even thicker not to notice the bit of pain as Sherlock saw that the space was empty, “Interesting,” Sherlock whispered instead looking at Shinichi, and that time the gaze was met with a look that John would have had. Shinichi heard the same thing Sherlock had, and Lestrade could only watch as Sherlock casually lied. Lestrade knew what the translationed statements meant, and it wouldn’t surprise if Sherlock had known all of it already considering how Lestrade had found out the truth of the kid.

It was a moment later and then the Inspector looked down at his watch, “It’s time for the show -”

The room filled with gas and coughing. Lestrade wasn’t surprised when the cast around him was missing one.

 

* * *

 

 

Kaito Kid glanced down at Sherlock and Heiji. He held the scepter up to the sky, and every soul on that roof felt their breath catch as the white crystal turned blood red under the moonlight, “Well,” Kid whispered, “I guess I’ve found it…”

A sniper shot hit the gem out of the scepter, and not a moment later Kid was nicked in the arm, sent tumbling over the railing, back onto the roof. Heiji barely caught him, and Sherlock fumbled to catch Pandora. His fingers fumbled, and Pandora hit the concrete roof. A crack formed and quickly the singular gem was pieces and then slowly the inside, the blood red proof of Pandora, was carried off like dust on the wind.

“Well,” Sherlock managed, “That’s the end of that I suppose.”

Another bullet was fired, missing all involved.

Kid glanced back, and he smiled, “Well then, Detectives. I suppose that means our game is over, doesn’t it?” Then he dropped backwards. 

Lestrade and Heiji glanced over to make sure Sherlock was unharmed as well, only to find the spot empty where Sherlock had been standing moments ago.

“Shit,” Heiji hissed.

“You can say that again,” Lestrade whispered.

“Shit.”

“Woah,” Lestrade whispered, “You really did. I know you’re in on it though?”

Heiji frowned, deeply, before rubbing the back of his head, “Not on this bit,” He whispered, “I swear, those two are playing a far more complicated game of chess then we could ever even dream of comprehending.”

“Shite,” Lestrade hissed.

“Yeah,” Heiji grumbled, “Immortality is not the game they should be playing around with.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock would have been the first to agree with Heiji’s sentiments had he stuck around to hear them, but he was texting his brother as he dove into the black car Not-Currently-Anthea was driving.

His brother with a laptop would post the notice -  _ Some legends swim. Some hide in boxes. Others arrive at pools at midnight hoping to eat their own tail  _ \- so the ending could be at their beginning.  

It was time for the game to end, and there wasn’t a moment to waste.

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock’s hand was wrapped tightly around Pandora, and he felt John’s Browning digging into his back. His footsteps echoed on the tile as he made his first footstep into the pool room, “Empty?” He called out, “Really? And here I thought I’d asked you out properly, Moriarty.”

His eyes were scanning the room when another set of steps echoed in the cavernous room. His attention snapped to the source, and for one brief moment he felt more then his heart lurch. He felt his mind stop, “John?” 

“Aw,” John struggled to whisper. “You know my name?” More than that though was to be seen by Sherlock, there was no jacket or discretion. John’s shoulders sagged under the amount of semtex and wiring Moriarty had set him up with. “You really do care. This date really was worth the effort to prepare for it.”

“Oh dear god-” Sherlock breathed. His eyes unmoving for more then a moment longer then he would have cared to admit from the explosives. This - this wasn’t how Sherlock expected this meeting to start. Not if Moriarty had wanted to keep John.

“Not quite,” John answered, “But I’m flattered. I do hold the power of life and death in my hands, so I suppose it’s close enough. I can stop the little one - I can stop his heart-”

“Stop,” Sherlock whispered. Sherlock stepped closer. His mind, curse his mind! It was still trying to process how disconnected it was from his heart, broken thing that it was right now. His mind needed control, but his body insisted that there was a lump in his throat and that nothing felt right so he took another step towards the still speaking John. 

And then he noticed the bobbing red dot - how could he have missed that - when did he miss its arrival?

“Gottle ‘o geer… Gottle ‘o geer… Gottle ‘o-”

“Stop it,” Sherlock whispered. His feet finally stopped.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear.”

“I said,” Sherlock took a breath, louder he repeated, “Stop it.” He hated the desperation in his voice.

A door crashed open, and a small man waving fingers at Sherlock strolled in, “Now, why, Sherlock?” He cooed, “Would I do that?”

Sherlock pulled the gem out of his pocket, “It was never really about John - the little one that is - was it? Or watching me dance?” He held up Pandora, “It’s this - This is the final puzzle, isn’t it?”

Moriarty raised an eyebrow, “Immortality?” He drooled, “So boring. Especially since you’re still so excited to see me.”

Sherlock pulled out John’s service pistol and leveled it at mad man, “Yeah,” He whispered, “That’s one way of putting it, I suppose.”

“And here I thought you were going to be interesting,” Moriarty whispered.

Sherlock shrugged, “I mean, this is an ouroboros, isn’t it? Rather dull story that one - snake eating its own tail.”

Moriarty smiled, he hadn’t really stopped but his eyes were finally smiling as well, “Ah,” He said slowly, “Well, it seems the boy here-”

“I spat in his eye this afternoon!” John piped up - the proper behavior of the brat he appeared to be. It was most likely the only thing that kept Moriarty from killing them both then and there.

“And so I’ve decided that child rearing would just be a troublesome thing, and I just - I really can’t keep letting either of you get in the way.”

“So all of that hard work on getting a genius to shape after your own design goes down the drain just like that.”

“I’m so changeable, Sherlly dear. It really is a flaw, but to be fair - it is my only one,” Moriarty stopped but only because of the tiny hands clutching his legs, “What are you doing, John?”

“If you’re going to blow us up, and I’m hugging you-” Sherlock’s stomach was sinking at the realization that John was going to end up dying pretending to be at least a good two decades younger then he actually was, “Then Sherlock can run while we talk.”

They both glanced at Sherlock and the consulting detective shook his head, “No, John. I don’t believe in abandoning my family to the hands of bad men.”

“And I am so changeable,” Moriarty admitted, and they both watched as a red dot slid onto Sherlock, “I’m sure I would have managed somehow to break that strong spirit of yours with your uncle out of the way giving you a reason to fight - oh - now that is a plan. Maybe I should just kill him to put you back into place? It would be your fault for misbehaving.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and shrugged with his eyebrows. There was a plan in that he’d have to admit. One that would have worked if John had actually been a child. He’d have the blood of two people on his hands then. One of them even his father figure then. What would that make him? It would be very easy to convince a child that that fact made him bad. 

But John had the mind of an adult, the heart of a doctor and the hands of soldier. A child might not know that failure was not a moral indicator, or being used the same, but if none of trio that composed the real John Watson knew that then the plan would work. But, if John had missed having even one of those links in his chain then he’d have been in a very rough spot while he was working in Afghanistan. In an active warzone.

John slowly stepped away. He glanced back at Sherlock and he nodded. Sherlock swallowed, but as they’d both realized the reality of their situation. The gun Sherlock had pointed at Moriarty shifted over to John. Moriarty stared with fascination, “Interesting decision,” He sung, “Why this?”

“At least then we’ll all blow up together,” Sherlock answered tightly.

Jim smiled at that, “And you nodded, John? Did you really know that your uncle would-”

“Clearly,” John answered drily, biting back the swears and aiming for a bored, sophisticated tone that a Holmes boy would use, “I was the one that nodded-” His phone started ringing at that moment. He looked up at Moriarty expectantly. Jim shrugged.

“Sure,” He answered with a shrug, “You might as well do that now. Might not have the chance to call them back later after all.”

John nodded, and he struggled to find a way past the wiring to get to his pockets before looking up at Jim, “You were the one that strapped this on me,” He moaned, “Could you-”

“‘Course it would be rude not to help a child in need.”

Sherlock snorted. Both men glanced at him, he wave it aside, “Of course,” He answered drily, “We have all the time in the world right now. Don’t let me rush you.”

John rolled his eyes, and Jim was a moment later, handing him his phone, “The number’s blocked,” He commented, “Might be someone you don’t know - you okay with that? Or do want an adult to take it - might be telemarketers? Doubt you’d want to deal with a boring phone call like that better then either of us would.”

It took John an embarrassing amount of time to realize that Jim wasn’t faking his sincerity, “Sure,” He mumbled before he could stop himself, “Go for it?”

Both John and Sherlock watched Jim in mute horror as he picked answered the phone, “This is John Holmes’ phone -”

Moriarty never finished the statement. He closed his mouth, and he watched the John and Sherlock before clicking the phone shut, “You keep the most interesting of company,” Jim explained with a carefully raised eyebrow at the boy, “And I don’t care for being told how to do what I’m hired to do. I should kill you right now, where you both stand.” 

“Hinder future business opportunities, wouldn’t it?”

Jim shrugged, “Cost benefit ratios were never my thing. Why wait for a reward,” He waved to the gem in Sherlock’s hand, “If I was interested in playing the long game I’d take that. But living is boring if you don’t know what you’re living for. And I know what I’m living for.”

“And what is that?” Sherlock asked with a carefully metered tone.

“To give my enemies a sample of hell before sending them there.” Jim shrugged, “If that’s their thing. Would rather just give them hell here. I’d rather be their devil. You,” Jim’s eyes flickered up and down Sherlock, “I had heard interesting things about you before. Might have even thought you’d be like me if given the right motivates. But you’re boring, aren’t you? On the side of the angels?”

Sherlock smirked, “Not really. I think it just means that maybe even John could make a saint out of you.”

Jim laughed at that, and then turned his gaze towards John, “Sounds like you think he’ll be a dangerous one then, eh?”

The pool echoed with a song,  _ Stayin’ Alive _ , as Moriarty watched John glare at him. After a few meters of the song, he answered his mobile, “‘Ello?”

The cool demeanor faded away, and fire filled Jim’s face, “You have what?” He asked with the same amount of self control he had claimed to have earlier. That being none, “I swear to you. If you are lying to me -  _ I will skin you alive _ .” Jim glanced at Sherlock and John, “One moment, love. I was in the middle of something.” He pulled his mobile to the shoulder, “Changeable,” He repeated, “It really is my downfall.” Then he winked at Sherlock before leaving, “I want you to repeat that once more, and if a single thing in that story has changed - then I will do more then skin you alive. I will flay you open while you’re awake.  _ I will make you watch. _ ”

And then the door slammed behind him, and the red show light flickered off. John and Sherlock stood in the pool room alone with only their adrenaline to keep them standing.

John stared at Sherlock for a moment before a laughter overcame him. Sherlock paled at it, but he rushed to kneel beside John. His hands fumbled with the bomb vest. “Mycroft wanted us to take safe cases,” John choked as Sherlock slide the vest away from them. John tumbled forward into Sherlock’s shoulder, “And this is-” His voice cracked and the laughter won out once more for just a moment before he could finish his thought, “This is what we get into instead.”

“Want to stop?” Sherlock asked, and John stiffened. He knew Sherlock meant every word of that offer.

“Not for the life of me,” John whispered, “Not for the life of me.”

“Good,” Sherlock whispered softly, “Good.” Then he realized his tone of voice was something others might mistake as emotional, fragile, an open confession that he would have given up the Work if John had asked it of him in that moment, and he frowned, “Would hate to have to put you up for adoption or some such-”

John’s hitching laughter was enough to cut him off. Sherlock quickly joined in with his own laughing tones, “Really, John, what am I do with you?”

John rolled his eyes but then a moment later nodded at the gem in Sherlock’s hands, “So, Immortality that? Pandora really was the Queen’s?”

Sherlock stared at the gem, seemingly remembering its existence, “Oh?” He threw it down hard on the ground. It shattered easily, “Not in the least, well yes, but I met an interesting fellow since you were delayed - got the decoy as planned from the helpful third party.”

“Was it…?”

“Oh yes. Who else?”

“Ah. Explains why she stuck around town then,” John whispered, “So where’s the real thing?”

“She doesn’t have it. Got shot. Surprisingly, shattered at the impact. It’s gone now,” Sherlock answered with a shrug, “Not that anyone will believe it. I’ll let Kaito keep hunting for a few years, then I’m sure he’ll stage an accident of his own so they’ll stop using him as a thief to try to find it for them - it will give me time to gather the evidence he’ll need to present to the Inspector fellow that he came with. He’s doing it to bring them to justice after all - they only think he’s being blackmailed, terrified into it because they’re idiots after all.”

“Course they are,” John whispered. He started giggling.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “What is it, John? Am I missing what’s funny?”

“It’s just,” John choked. He glanced at the coat, “Just there was a lot that happened tonight, and now we’re talking about a shadowy organization and just-” He started giggling again, and then he lost it.

Sherlock smirked, “If you don’t stop laughing like that John, people are going to talking.”

“People hardly do much else,” He gritted between his ragged breathing.

Sherlock laughed, lightly, not the mad laughter like John had had a moment earlier trying to regain perspective on what had just happened. Sherlock’s gaze was soft as he fell into their easy banter, “Think the laughter is a sign that you’ve stayed up past your bedtime, John.”

“Shove it, Sherlock. You can shove it right up your arse-”

 

* * *

 

 

Mycroft sat beside Kaito Kuroba in his barely light hospital room, with a phone in his hand between them, he hit the stop button on his recording once John’s language had gotten a bit more than colorful, “I figured you should know sooner then that,” He answered with a tight flicker of a smile at the teen, wide awake due to the contents of the leaked conversation.

“How did you bug Sherlock without him noticing?” Kaito whispered.

Mycroft’s smile was tight, but lingering, “I am the smarter one,” He answered simply.

“Why are you telling me this?” Kaito falling back deeper into the pillows he’s painfully leaned away from in an effort to get closer to the phone, “You’re the smarter one after all. You know what information is worth.”

“I like having favors owed,” Mycroft answered softly, “And, perhaps you’ll consider studying abroad in England sometime? Fully compensated - and then some, clearly. The favor would be your consideration, not for your work.”

“Not blackmail that way,” Kaito grumbled. Mycroft nodded, “What else though?” Kaito asked.

Mycroft rose, “My son,” Kaito snorted, and Mycroft frowned, “My son,” He repeated, “Is walking away from this without repercussions. I figured it fair to give you a reason not to hold it against him, but I see now that-”

“Not the first weird kid in my line of work,” He grumbled the interruption. His energy now drifting away from his attention and going back to his recovery. He stopped caring about being coherent. He knew now. Pandora really was gone. He didn’t to steal gems once a month to check under the light of the moon. He didn’t have to - not anymore. Not to bring his father’s killers to justice. Not to stop them from gaining immortality. Other ways now. If he wanted to. 

He did. Aoko was right. She always was when it came to actually seeing him. Even if she didn’t agree. She had always seen what had mattered with him.

“I see the family resemble now that you called it out is all,” He mumbled when he realized Mycroft hadn’t left yet. “Especially in the eyes,” He whispered, “Those were cold, calculating eyes I saw. Eyes that would be fine with taking a life.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow what you’re trying to say about the boy,” Mycroft answered tightly.

“Calculating eyes,” Kaito grumbled, “I should have realized he’d only hit where he’d meant to. Shouldn’t have been afraid. Dangerous - but so is Shinichi - so is Kid. But harmless to his friends. You have a good family…”

A light snoring left Mycroft alone in the room with a light, genuinely awkward smile on his lips, “Yes,” Mycroft whispered, “Well, I suppose you have met the best bits of the Holmes lot.”


	9. Departing Routes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saw the Intermissions - functional epilogues/prologues - weren't getting the same amount of views at the main parts. Gonna cut doing those from now on as they're a bit more plot vitol at this point. Well, so was last I suppose, but I didn't know at the time.

* * *

 

 

“You’re telling me,” Lestrade said slowly, “That all of that-”

“Was an operation far above your paygrade?” Mycroft answered slowly.

“Yeah,” Lestrade answered tightly, “That. So the little one-”

“Is walking scotch free. Kaito Kuroba was involved in it the moment we realized the bomber’s intent towards him. Normally, we’d have eliminated any sort of risk, but in the end we all decided that Moriarty would require such extreme measures. I assure you, he was well compensated for his involvement.”

“I had heard someone mysterious covered not just the medical bills he’d gained not dying, but also a bit extra to let the family stay with him while he recovered. Hotel and all that.”

“And then some. The kid deserves a vacation after all he's been through, don’t you think?”

“Think?” Lestrade answered. He slide open a drawer to his desk and pulled out a bottle of bourbon, “Know.” He stated very firmly, “I know he needs that as much as I need this drink. Should I pour you one as well?”

Mycroft shook his head as he rose, “I have other matters to attend to.”

Lestrade tapped the bottle, “This,” He informed Mycroft, “Is how I handled Sherlock before your boy entered our lives.”

“Interesting that you decided how to handle an addict was with a drug of your own choice,” Mycroft commented drily.

“Oh,” Lestrade admitted with a nod, “Don’t think I missed the irony in that one, you blimey arse. I’m just saying - that we’re lucky the little Holmes will be sticking around despite everything considering how much better the work environments gotten now that he’s always in Sherlock’s shadow. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

Mycroft smiled, “Noted, Detective Inspector. I’ll be sure to keep the current arrangements then.”

“For the sake of my liver,” Lestrade raised his glass, “I thank you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock, Greg and John sat in a pub. The bartender was staring at the boy sitting at the rail. He glanced at the adults, and Greg, not noticing but in a fit of exhaustion, pulled his badge off of his belt and slide it on the counter out in front of him. The bartender simply nodded and walked away. He wanted nothing to do their tips. There were other patrons he could tend to then the tall lanky one seemed to shake off the fog long enough to raise his hand for the bartender’s continued attention, “What can I get you?” He asked.

“John?” Sherlock glanced at the kid, and the kid nodded.

“He wants a -”

“The kid isn’t ordering here-”

The police man rapped on the table and he stared at the barkeep. It sent a shiver down his spine, the dead look in the man’s eyes, “After what just happened,” Lestrade whispered, “You can take the boy’s order if he wants one.”

“In that case,” John pipped up, “Two bourbons - neat.”

Sherlock nodded, “Yes. I’ll take one of those-”

“One of those was for you. I knew I was ordering for you, you idiot.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but he kept quiet.

“So,” Lestrade grumbled, “Are we going to talk about yesterday -”

“No,” John and Sherlock answered in union.

Lestrade nodded, “Then I’ll take my usual, Finn.”

The Barkeep nodded, “Been a while,” He commented.

Lestrade glanced at Sherlock and John, “Yeah,” He answered slowly, “There’s a reason for that.”

 

* * *

 

 

Kaito Kuroba sat beside Shinichi Kudo on the flight back to Japan, “I’ve decided that I’m going to study in England,” He said as the plane took off.

“Oh?” Shinichi raised an eyebrow.

Kaito nodded to the girl sitting in the row ahead of them with sound canceling bose headphones on, “Yeah. Seems the Holmes family feels bad that John was blackmailed into shooting me. Appreciated my willingness not to make a story of it. They’ll be paying my way as long as I can get into a school for them to pay for it.”

“I see,” Shinichi swallowed, “Is there a reason why you’re telling me this?”

Kaito leaned back. He looked like he was about to settle in for a nap. His eyes closed, “I know you have another year of high school,” Kaito answered casually, “But if you want free room and board I can put it on their tab. If you decide you want out of Japan that is.”

Shinichi stared at the back of Aoko’s head, and he swallowed. He shuffled about in his seat before answering, “I - I appreciate the offer, Kaito.”

“Shinichi,” Kaito answered opening an eye to stare at the man who had saved his life as often as he had endangered it, “I understand, but the offer will stand even with that rejection of it.”

Shinichi smirked, “Glad to know. A lot can change in a year after all.”

“You’ll have been missing for what then? Two years? Three?”

“Two,” Shinichi answered, and somehow he managed to answer that with a flat, unaffected tone of voice, “And my lies are even deeper then yours.”

“And her fears will rightfully be the same as Aoko’s, won’t they?” Kaito asked, with an unamused grin, “And, We enjoy being ourselves too much, don’t we?”

Shinichi didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Kaito wouldn’t have wanted to hear anyways.

“Can you really do the same to her?” Kaito asked once the plane settled from the take off, “The same of what I did? Is your happiness worth her sadness?”

“I don’t follow.”

“You’re lying to me.”

“Nope,” Shinichi lied, “Don’t follow. You’ll have to explain in detail.”

Kaito sighed, “Wake me when the flight attendant comes by with the drinks. I really, really want a coke cola.”

Shinichi smirked, and he slide out the book he’d packed to waste the time on his flight. It was better then thinking about what he was flying back home to.

After all, this plot might have freed Kid, but it hadn’t freed him. Vermouth was still out there, hoping to use him as a silver bullet, and the Black Organization was still willing to try to kill him all over again - and to attempt it for the first time with his loved ones.

He didn’t notice the moment he’d stopped reading to stare at Aoko, and he hated himself for it. He hated even how right Kaito’s concerns were and that they were burrowing under his skin and starting to take root.

He was fine. He was. Ran would understand. It would all be fine. He could almost hear Kaito voice what his response would be to that,  _ But should you ask her for forgiveness if you know you’ll just go, turn around and do it again to her? If your going to ask her to give up her pain - Can you give up detective work in exchange? Is your happiness worth her sadness? _

He put away his book, and he plugged his earbuds into the onboard entertainment. A movie might be a better choice for a distraction after all - or at least, he could hope.

 

* * *

 

 

John sat at the desk, typing away at his keyboard, as Sherlock shouted at the television, “I knew getting you into crappy telling would be dangerous.”

“Dangerous, John?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the man, “After the last week we’ve had - this is your definition of dangerous?”

“Fair point,” John admitted quickly, “That is a very fair point.”

Sherlock smirked, and in a calm silence they resumed their prior activities. At least until Sherlock started shouting at the telly again.

“Clearly he’s not the son! Look at his nose!”

A muffled snort came from John’s seat, and air of 221b was peaceful, homey, in the way it could only be after the two brothers had solved a case well worth their time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first wrote this. I hadn't planned on sharing it.
> 
> It has been a pleasure of mine seeing the responses that APTX Watson has gotten, and I'm looking forward to completing it. It won't be soon, admittedly, but with the outline complete I do know that it will happen. And, I can't wait to share what further adventures will happen to the Baker's St and Gosho Boys. 
> 
> Thank you for taking your time to read this, and for all the lovely comments everyone has left so far. I posted these last two chapters back to back so I don't know what the reactions have been to what happened as I write this. I hope it was as thrilling to read as it was to write. Now, Life's about to shortly catch up to me, but it's been my pleasure to spend the last bit of internet access I'm going to have for a while completing this. :) 
> 
> I hope to see ya on the other side of my hiatus. ^^


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